


Here We Glow

by TakeTheShot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Background Melinda May/Andrew Garner, Background Natasha Romanov/Bruce Banner, Background Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, But Clint is gorgeous, Casual Relationship, Clubbercise, Gym Instructor!Clint, Honest, M/M, May is a good bro, Natasha Is a Good Bro, No Strings Sex, POV Alternating, Phil Coulson is off relationships, Phil and Clint are typically oblivious, Phlint is endgame, SHIELD Husbands, banter and fun, but also FEELINGS, eventual pining, happy ending of course, i bet you're shocked, in lots of varieties, lots of fun sex, minor and background ships, misuse of cheesecake, misuse of dance anthem lyrics, no feelings involved, phlint - Freeform, terrible puns, that might not stay so casual, the boys have lots of good bros, the smut grew a plot, various marvel cameos and references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeTheShot/pseuds/TakeTheShot
Summary: Phil Coulson emphatically does not want a relationship right now. He's been burned one too many times and just isn't ready to put his emotions out there again. But he's not a saint and when his friend May drags him to a new gym class, there's no denying that the instructor is more than a little eye-catching...Clint Barton has a history of falling fast and hard and hitting rock-bottom in exactly the same way and he's not looking to repeat the pattern yet again.  Honest. The new guy in his class though? He might just be a test of that resolve.There's no denying the attraction and as long as they're both honest, two consenting adults can just have some hot, sweaty and athletic fun without putting their hearts on the line. Can't they?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 173
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a classic tale of smut that grew a plot. And then grew and grew and grew....hope you don't mind!
> 
> I'm not even going to pretend to have a posting schedule right now, but I am deep into writing chapter 6 and currently hitting about 40k so there's plenty to come :) Please consider this an early Christmas present to all you wonderful Phlint readers who help keep this gorgeous ship going, one that will likely stretch well into the new year! 
> 
> Enjoy x

>>===>>

“No.” Phil raised his voice so that it carried over the brightly cluttered cacophony of conversation and music that filled the bar, “Unequivocally and absolutely, no.”

Melinda May, ostensibly Phil’s very good friend but apparently also someone hell-bent on torturing him, merely sipped her drink and arched her eyebrow in his direction.

“No!” Phil repeated, this time with more force. He took another gulp of the neon, sticky and fruit-laden concoction that purported to be his drink, then eyed it suspiciously. It must actually be his drink because it was in his glass and in his hand, but wow, it was _disturbingly_ pink. When he looked up, May was still arching at him. He huffed. “You can eyebrow me all you like May, but that does not change the fact that the answer is, and will remain, no.”, Phil pointed, emphatically, for punctuation. The effect was perhaps slightly spoiled by the fact that he was holding a paper cocktail umbrella while he did it, but still. Pointing again, despite his slightly fuzzy head, Phil gave the gesture and the words as much weight as he could manage. “I mean it. _No_.”

Apparently, it simply didn’t weigh enough. May merely eyed him over the rim of her own, similarly fruitily decorated, glass and gave him a look. “Yes.”

It was a good look, a tough look. A look that could bring lesser men to their knees and in fact frequently had, but Phil had spent years in May’s company building up an immunity. He stood his ground. “No.”

May sipped, “Are you allowed to say no to me about wedding things at my bacherlorette party?”

“Yes! Given that you’ve already claimed the ice-cream factory trip _and_ the aquarium dinner as your ‘bacherlorette’, which means that I’ve already had to try 28 flavours in one sitting _and_ clean a shark tank, then yes, on this occasion which even you know is just a random Friday night out, I think I am! Thoroughly allowed.” Phil sighed and drained his glass, still grimacing a little pinkness, then, leaning back as far as his precarious perch on the barstool would allow, he held a hand up, fingers extended. “May, there are three things I know for certain about your wedding. One –“he counted it off, “the bride will be radiant. B – the free bar will last much less time than you imagine, especially if you invite Hunter and Bobbi. And Three – I will not be taking part in any kind of choreographed couples dance number. I will not. No.”

“You mixed up your bulleting.”

“I know!” Phil exclaimed, “What is _in_ these things?” He examined the dregs of his drink then shrugged and waved at the barman, gesturing for a refill for them both, “Doesn’t matter though, it’s still not happening. And you, you hate dancing. Why are you even agreeing to it?”

May sipped at her straw again, delicately, and far too nonchalantly for Phil to buy the carefully casual act, and shrugged, “Its Andrew’s idea.” 

At that, Phil groaned. He’d lost. Melinda May was without doubt the strongest and most independent woman he’d ever known, one who would probably be able to stage a government coup in an afternoon just for kicks if she felt like it, but even she had soft spots. And her softest spot, Phil knew for certain, was her fiancé, Andrew. Which was probably right and good and proper, but which didn’t help Phil with his situation even a little bit. 

“He has his heart set on it.” May continued, with jut the tiniest soft look touching the edges of her smile, “Apparently it’s a family tradition for the Garners, bride and groom, parents of the bride and groom and the attendants all dance the first dance. In pairs. So, while I thank you for One and agree with B, I’m asking you as my Mai…” Phil shot her a look of his own and she seamlessly changed her next word, “..ain person of honour, change your mind on Three. It’s not like you can’t dance.”

The new drinks arrived, thankfully this time a little less fruity and Phil took a large swallow. Urgh. Still too sweet. Suddenly he was weary and the littlest bit heartsick as well as slightly dizzy, and not just from the drinks, “May,” he said, heavily, “that’s not really the issue is it? Who would I even dance with?”

“Phil…”

“No, listen. It’s an attendant’s dance. And there will be precisely two attendants, since you’re only having me and Andrew’s only got his best man. Who I’m sure is a nice guy, but who is also a very straight, very married guy and I am fairly sure not looking for my type as a dance partner. So, just let him dance with his wife and I’ll stand off to the side and cheer you all. It’ll be fine,” he said, then repeated, “absolutely fine.” Maybe, if he said it enough, it would be true.

May narrowed her eyes at this tone, scowling, and Phil was very relieved that _that_ look wasn’t meant for him. It was legitimately terrifying. “Aubrey Nathan is a cello-playing idiot who doesn’t know what he’s given up.”

Her fierceness made Phil smile even as the name stung at him a little. Aubrey. Indeed. More than six months since they’d broken up, since Aubrey had left Phil’s flat, taking his ‘changed’ feelings and a good slice of Phil’s heart with him and it still stung. Not really, Phil was honest enough to acknowledge, for any feelings of missing Aubrey himself, per-se. Of course, in the first few weeks his absence had seemed a yawning black hole, a sucking void pulling on Phil’s life and he would have given anything to have him back again, but that wasn’t what haunted Phil now. Aubrey had his faults, which, with distance were easier to see and their relationship had perhaps been fading for longer than he’d realised. So he honestly wasn’t pining for the past. But the drag, the weight of knowing that he was another failed relationship down the line with nothing to show for it yet again, that weighed heavy. That stung. 

_Four years._

Phil winced. All that effort, that time, that care, all that _giving_ , all of it poured into a beautiful pot that had turned out to have a hole in the bottom. No foundation. It was as sad as it was tiring. 

May cleared her throat and abruptly Phil realised that she was still looking at him, still scowling. He’d obviously been silent a little too long. Well, there was no point in bringing her night down too, so he widened his smile, acknowledging her comment, “Indeed May, you’ve spent long enough saying so, and you know I’m over it. Him. But still,” he played up even more, striking a pose, “I do absolutely have to agree with you, who except an idiot wouldn’t want some of all this?”

Wiggling his fingers he gestured sweepingly at himself and May laughed. He was being a little glib, and he knew May knew it but she obviously agreed with the sentiment, understood that he’d had enough of wallowing and had decided to let him get away with it. “That’s the spirit Mr Coulson.” Lifting her glass she clinked it against Phil’s and they both took another gulp, “Cheers to the absence of stupid short-sighted exes who weren’t worth it anyway! But exes aside,” she added, tone suddenly serious again that turn-on-a-dime- style May was famous for, “the wedding isn’t for five months…”

This was not the conversation Phil wanted to be having. He attempted to derail it, “Which is why already having three bacherlorette parties could be considered excessive…”

and failed again. She waved him off “Shhh you, my extravagances are entirely my own business. Your job here is just to show up to keep me company and look pretty. But seriously. What I’m saying is that you have time to find someone. For your plus one. If you want.”

The idea rang hollow in the space beneath Phil’s breastbone. Someone. Someone _else_. Someone _new_. Someone to start all that with, all over again. Another chance to take, another gamble with his battered heart. In five months. No. He didn’t think so. Phil shook his head, “Really May? I wouldn’t want some random plus one captured on your wedding video for all time. When we hold your tenth anniversary party nobody will want to watch me dancing with second-date-Steve. Or Sam. Or Shaun…”

May rolled her eyes, “There’s no actual rule that says his name would have to start with ‘S’. And you never know, you could meet someone serious.”

“No.” Because really? That just wasn’t on the cards, wasn’t something he thought he could face. No matter how quiet his ‘quiet evenings in’ had become, no matter how big and empty his bed sometimes felt, it just wasn’t, not yet. He shook his head again, “Not in five months. You know how long it took me and Aubrey to get together.” Another reason why the ultimate crash and burn of the relationship still ached, all that time invested to no end… but he didn’t want to think about it, not really and he searched for something that would throw May off the topic. Finally something rose for the pink, pineapple-flavoured mist and from far away Phil heard himself say “Besides, I’m decidedly not in the market for a relationship right now.”

“Phil, I know it sucked, but you don’t have to swear off men altogether…”

“Oh, I’m not.”

And there went May’s eyebrow again, “You’re not?”

“No.” Phil repeated firmly, and even as he spoke, the concept lodged into his brain and sank deep. Saying it had just been a way to derail May but the more he thought about it, the more right the idea it seemed. He had been burned by Aubrey he knew, let down and burned, hard, and it had _hurt_ , so why would he volunteer for going through that again right away? Maybe one day, sure, but now? Not a chance. But, perhaps something… shallower, more casual would just the thing. A toe dipped back in the waters. It sounded….doable. Easier. Safer. He carried on talking, letting the idea unfold, testing out as he went, “I’m just…not looking for another boyfriend. If I did get involved with anyone right now, and before you start mental matchmaking I still don’t see that as being all that likely, it would just be for…fun. That’s all. He wouldn’t be wedding dance material.”

“Really? Just fun?”

“Really.” Phil slid a strawberry free of his glass’ rim and bit into it defiantly, because the scepticism in her question was, frankly, annoying. He might not be looking to settle down, but he didn’t have to be a saint, did he? No. But he didn’t have to be a sucker either. “I mean it. That would be enough for me right now. A bit of fun between consenting adults and that would do. Free and footloose and fun. Nothing serious.”

May patently did not believe him and said so. “Phil, just ‘fun’? You know you’re usually a relationship kind of a man.”

And look where that had left him. Several years older but a whole lot wiser.

“Well. Things change. So,” he clinked his glass against hers this time, “cheers to fun!”

“Cheers….” May’s voice tailed off as she clocked something behind him. Eyes twinkling, she smirked, “Looks like your request has been heard already Mr Nothing Serious. Watch your six.”

Before Phil even had chance to look round a hand tapped his shoulder. Turning automatically, he found himself face to face with a gorgeous dark-haired man, a good few years younger than Phil himself, leaning against the bar, smiling confidently, 

“Sorry,” the man drawled, “but I couldn’t help overhearing. If you’re looking…I can absolutely be…fun.” The smile widened and while it looked friendly enough something in its depths glittered in a way that sent Phil’s mental hackles straight up. All his muscles tensed, assessing. This guy was absolutely handsome and he absolutely knew it. Which wasn’t a crime in itself, and yet... “The name’s Grant,” he went on, trailing his hand down across Phil’s shoulder to toy with his tie, brushing against the shirt button below it, “and I think you’ll need to remember that…”

Phil firmly and deliberately pulled his tie free, “Because I’ll be reporting it to the police later?”

“Aw, come on,” ‘Grant’ wheedled, pouting, “No need to be like that. I heard what you said you were looking for …”

“Oh,” Phil feigned surprise, “I’m sorry. You must have misheard. I said ‘fun’, not ‘fungus’.” Standing, he picked up his drink and pretended to look around the bar, “Ah. It looks like a table has come free for me and my friend, so, if you’ll excuse us…”

He swept away and May shrugged at the guy and followed. There was actually a tiny table empty and Phil made a beeline for it, sinking gratefully into the chair. Once they’d settled into the new spot May gave him a nudge, “So, I can’t help but notice that for a man looking for ‘nothing serious’ you’re still being rather selective. You know I’m not the type to insist that everyone needs a partner but I’d hate to see you lonely. You turned down John at work last month, and now this guy…” she laughed at Phil’s derisive snort, “Alright, alright. I’m guessing too smooth?”

“Smooth?” Phil grimaced, “Slimy would be a better word. May, I’m honestly not looking but if I was, it wouldn’t be for _that_. It’d be for…” a nice smile?…genuine attraction?…something…somehow the detail wouldn’t fill in on the picture in his head. He sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not even looking.” All at once Phil had had quite enough of his love-life, or lack of such, as a topic. Maybe he was a little lonely. Maybe Aubrey leaving had done more of a number on him than he’d thought. Maybe…It was too exhausting. “Can we talk about something else? Before this evening turns entirely depressing?”

Thankfully the neon cocktails seemed to have put May in the mood to be merciful. “Of course.” She drained her glass while assessing the rest of the bar for a distraction and Phil almost sighed with relief when she zeroed in on the bunch of frat boys who were loudly and obnoxiously arguing over a game of pool, eyes narrowed, “It’s been their turn at the table long enough don’t you think? Shall we get another drink and relieve them of it?”

Her grin was almost gleefully evil and Phil found that he couldn’t help but join in, the prospect of watching May show off her hustle almost as gratifying as having the attention taken off him, “Now that sounds like a plan,” Standing, he offered her his arm, “M’lady?” 

May took it even though she rolled her eyes. As they sauntered towards the table, she gave it a squeeze, “I’m sure ‘fun’ will find you Phil, if that’s what you’re after. Or even something else. That too.”

Phil nodded. He always appreciated her back-up but he was not honestly sure which he wanted, or even if he wanted either, and the neon drinks were not helping. So, he decided, sod it. His head was pleasantly fuzzy and he was out with one of his best friends. Why worry too much? He would just leave it to the fates. “Thanks May.” He squeezed back, straightened his spine, “Now, let’s go talk to the poor boys about to lose their shorts to a tiny little Asian woman shall we?” Very nearly feeling sorry for them, Phil smiled, “Honestly, the things you talk me into.”

>>===>


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, don't pass out from shock, but here is chapter two! I'm too excited about my upcoming trip to sleep so I edited this instead XD. From here on in though we are definitely on hiatus until I get back in January, probably for three weeks at least.
> 
> So, wishing you all very happy holidays and a very merry and prosperous new year, I will see you soon.
> 
> Enjoy x

>>===>>

“How…” Phil groaned, and while he didn’t _quite_ stumble as he blinked in the bright morning sunshine it was a very near thing, “..just exactly how do I let you talk me into these things?”

May, sipping a sludgy green juice concoction and looking far too put together for a woman who had still been drinking and smashing all-comers at pool at two-am, especially when two-am had been merely a gods-forsaken six hours ago, just shrugged, “You said you were happy to come to the gym with me.”

“When I said that when I was inebriated. You shouldn’t be able to hold me to a bargain signed in offensively pink cocktails.” Phil sighed, rubbing his yes, “And I thought we would be going to the gym at work. Not coming…here.” 

The gym at SHIELD Security where they both worked was safe, homely and likely at this time on a Saturday morning, empty. They could have sneaked in and gotten a decent workout without having to actually speak to other humans through their (his) hangovers and Phil wouldn’t have had to be decked out in gear borrowed from May’s Andrew. Who was a great guy but who was also undeniably both taller and broader than Phil and who had fairly questionable taste in workout clothes. Phil thought longingly of his locker at work and shorts that would actually fit. Thank all the gods he and Andrew had the same size feet, but the rest was… best not looked at too closely. If they’d been at SHIELD none of it would have concerned him because even if Phil hadn’t had spare clothes there, which he did, and even if there had been anyone there at this time on a Saturday, which there wouldn’t, he was senior enough and respected enough that nobody would have dared mention it. Instead…this. Phil frowned and waved crossly at the large, glass fronted gym building they’d arrived at, _“Stark’s Luxury Health Club?”_

“I like _Stark’s._ ” May said, pushing open the sparkling door and swiping them both through gates with a membership card he had not known she had, “They have good classes. The gym at work is all weights and treadmills. And,” she neatly cut off Phil’s protest, “before you tell me that you like weights and treadmills, other training is just as important.”

Phil paused in following May up the seemingly endless corridor to look through a window into what had to be the weight room. It was huge and shiny and enticing and, most importantly, not a class. He stared in longingly, “But I do like weights.” 

May, coming up beside him, pointed, “That much?” 

He followed her finger. At the back of the room a huge, and he meant _huge_ , and ridiculously handsome, blonde, smiling man was spotting for an angry-looking-but-similarly-stunning brown-haired guy who, despite having what looked like it might be a prosthetic arm, was pressing an obscene amount. Just watching the two of them made Phil’s head ache. “Alright,” he conceded, turning to catch up with May, “Perhaps not _that_ much _this_ morning. Fine. Where’s this class you’ve bullied me into?”

“Right here.” May pointed to a door and Phil stuck his head through to get a clue what he’d let himself in for. What in the name of… he drew back as sharply as if the view burned,

“May…no.”

She raised her brows, all innocence, “Something wrong?”

“Don’t give me that. You know was expecting something like…pilates or yoga or even box-fit. Not…” he waved helplessly, “May, they have disco lights. And _glow sticks._ ”

“That’s because it’s a Clubbercise class.”

“Clubbercise?” Phil heard the derision bleeding into his voice and it wasn’t like him to be unsupportive of May’s quirks, but really? “And Clubbercise is…?”

“I’m fairly sure you can work out that it’s exercising to dance music. You know, club anthems? ” Pushing open the door, she dragged him through and into a line of (mostly) women, all apparently waiting to sign in, “Come on, don’t be a baby. It’s actually great cardio, good for balance and flex and rhythm. All of which are great for when you have to really move, say when dancing at a wedding…”

“I already told you I won’t be dancing.” Phil asserted quickly, looking around to assess exactly how much trouble he’d gotten himself into. The room was surprisingly dark considering the sunny morning outside but filled with such a multitude of spinning and flashing lights that nobody would have known it. Without pause they sent beams of colour all over the place, twirling masses of spots and flowers and god knows how many other shapes over the walls and floor, none of them staying still for more than a few seconds. The effect was…dazzling. Literally. Atmospheric but chaotic and absolutely not toned down by the fact that each class member seemed to be brandishing a pair of flashing electric glow sticks, most waving them randomly about the place as they chatted and said their hellos and claimed their spaces. For a second Phil was almost convinced that he hadn’t flashed back to his college days and nights in the student bars, insane lighting complete with hangover. The line moved slowly forward and he turned to walk backwards with it so he could look at May, pleading, “Do we really have to?”

“Yes.” 

They shuffled forward a few steps.

Phil grumped. “Remind me never to agree to a night out on your terms again. Even if it is your ‘bacherlorette’.” 

A few more.

May rolled her eyes at him, “Phil, come on. You’ll enjoy it. And you’ll like Natasha, she’s tough. A great instructor.”

“Ah,” a cheerful, deep voice interrupted from behind Phil, and it definitely did not belong to any ‘Natasha’ Phil had ever met, “Sorry about that guys, Nat’s not actually teaching today. ‘Fraid you’ll have to make do with me.”

Phil turned as the last few people in the line drifted off, parting like the Red Sea to reveal –oh good god damn – even in this dim and strobing light one of the most beautiful men Phil had ever had the pleasure of putting his eyes on. Sitting cross-legged on the raised stage he perhaps wasn’t conventionally handsome, he was a bit too rugged for that, but still utterly _gorgeous_ , with a mop of sandy-blonde hair, shoulders broad enough and well-shaped enough to make angels weep and that jawline…. the sudden pull to reach out and run his thumb along it was so strong that Phil’s stomach literally lurched with it. The man’s shorts and loose tank workout outfit hid some what Phil would put money on being a firm and compact torso but did reveal beautiful, strong-looking arms plus well-muscled legs, acres upon acres of golden skin and…and Phil could not seem to stop looking. Surely far too many seconds had ticked past and surely his stare had gone beyond the realms of politeness but he simply couldn’t help it. If someone had gone down Phil’s ticklist of ‘things I find physically attractive’ and checked each and every box, they could scarcely have come up with a better fit. Suddenly, he was very aware of the flapping, loudly printed shorts and faded old medical conference t-shirt of Andrew’s that May had dragged him out in. Oh, just perfect.

As if Phil hadn’t been gawping like he was suffering from a concussion the man smiled –showing a frankly sinful amount of twinkle - and held out his hand,

“Hi, I’m Clint. Have you been to Clubbercise before?”

Phil took the offered hand and shook it - damn, _warm_ and _firm_ and _calluses_ – but when he let go, couldn’t summon any kind of human greeting. Apparently he’d temporarily lost the power of speech. (It had to be an affect of the lights.) 

May, predictably, hadn’t got any such problem. She leaned forward and shook Clint’s hand too, “I have, with Natasha. I’m Melinda. May. And this is Phil. He hasn’t, I persuaded him to come, to get some and prep for dancing at the wedding.” 

“May, right, sure!” Clint nodded warmly, “Nat’s mentioned you. You’re getting married soon, yeah?” He looked over to Phil, who was still standing frozen like a lightning-struck idiot, “So, you’re the lucky guy then Phil?”

No, no way, Phil did not want this absolute vision thinking that and he absolutely had to say something - to correct the misconception and because anything, anything at all would be better than this staring he was _still doing_. What was wrong with him? He struggled to pull up words but even the few he got close to managing suddenly and completely died of shock at the sound of May. _Giggling_. Phil physically startled, because _Melinda May_? Emphatically not the giggling type, not even after several neon cocktails. Phil spun her way, expecting some clue as to what was going on but no, she was innocently chatting away, passing Clint her membership card to log in for the class as if nothing was even slightly amiss, “Us?” she laughed lightly, “Me and Phil? Oh no. No, we’re friends but that would never work.” she nodded lightly at Phil, “I’m not quite his type. I’m lacking an… appendage or two that I’m pretty sure he’d miss.”

She leaned into the pause for just long enough for her meaning to be utterly clear and oh good god, what was she _doing?_ Phil wondered briefly if it was possible to go temporarily deaf, or maybe just implode, in sheer self-defence. Fighting a blush he dragged his eyes back towards Clint only to find, to his surprise, the man was still smiling.

“Really…” Clint paused too as he handed May back her card and two pairs of glowsticks and raised his brow curiously at Phil, “Is that right? Appendages.” 

Almost too fast to see, Clint’s eyes flicked quickly up and down, raking Phil head to toe with a gaze that could only be called speculative and a wave of heat flooded Phil in its wake. Furiously he called on all the skills he’d developed in years of working high-end security jobs, all his poker-face abilities and caught Clint’s eyes as they returned to his face. Suave. He _could_ do suave. Dryly, hoping his rapidly pounding pulse wasn’t showing on the outside, Phil lifted an eyebrow of his own, “It’s the tentacles,” he deadpanned, “can’t seem to do without them.”

“Ha!” Clint’s laugh was a loud, genuine thing that from somewhere deep in his belly (damn, didn’t that just do interesting flexing things to his muscles?) and he grinned at Phil (damn, didn’t that do cute scrunchy things to his face?) with even more twinkle than before, “Tentacles. Awesome. I’ll…have to bear that in mind.” 

Phil started to smile back but before he had chance to say anything else devastatingly clever Clint glanced at his watch and scrambled to his feet, “Shit! It’s time to start…find a space you guys, have fun!”

Following May to find an empty spot in the room Phil knocked her elbow, non-too gently “Care to explain what that was all about?”

Again, she offered only her most innocent smile, “Just making sure a few…essential facts were communicated. Ready? This view ok with you?”

Phil followed where she waved and there of course was Clint, just a few rows away, doing the last of his set-up. Phil rolled his eyes at her and ignored her laugh, struggling for some dignity, “It’ll do.”

It was, actually, a pretty stunning view.

Up on the stage now, Clint flicked on a headset and called out to the class, “Good morning clubbers, is everyone ready to start?” Reaching down, he pressed something on his shoes that set the soles flashing with multi-coloured strip lights and all around Phil the class laughed and cheered. The shoes were the dorkiest and most adorable thing Phil had ever seen and he felt a swell attraction tempered with a warmth that felt totally out of proportion with the situation and yet somehow, perfectly accurate. 

“Right then guys, remember, just take it at your own level and have a good time. You’ll know most of these tracks from classes with Nat and any you don’t, just follow me.” Clint thumbed on his glowsticks, pressed yet another button on his headset and began to march on the spot as the intro to the first track started to pound. All around, the class copied and before Phil knew it his feet were also moving without him even really telling them to, stepping to match Clint’s. Just before the music really began Clint called out again, “And you might notice, we do have a clubbercise virgin with us today but, don’t worry Phil,” the strobing lights made it hard to tell but Phil swore that Clint found him in the crowd, that he saw the flash of a wink, “I’ll take good care of you.” 

Phil’s stomach twisted, he flashed hot this time and his march almost stumbled. But the wink vanished too fast for him to be totally sure he’d even seen it, the beat really kicked in and suddenly everyone around him was doing jumping-jacks to a repeated set of high notes as if linked by some sort of hive-mind. Phil scrambled to get in time, determined to keep up because if there was even the slightest chance that he was being watched – actually _watched_ \- then there was no way he wanted to give anything less than a perfect show. He mustn’t make a fool of himself. The notes sounded again and on stage Clint threw himself into a perfect jack, the lines of his arms going high and tight, his loose tank (emblazoned _‘Let’s Get Glowing!_ ’ in neon green) riding up just slightly to show the merest hint of a taut, tanned stomach. Phil completely missed the beat, faltered, and when his arms went up obviously after everyone else’s he saw the corner of Clint’s mouth twitch up.

Damn. 

Mentally, he shook himself. Right Phil, get it together. Suave. Operation Not-making-a fool-of-yourself, take two…

The rest of the class was an exquisite kind of torture.

Phil was fit enough for it because even if he was largely office-based at the minute he wasn’t going to work years in private security and then let himself go to marshmallow, so it wasn’t exactly too strenuous, but it was challenging. The variety of moves, the race of the beat keeping time, the way the entire routine changed from one track to the next…Phil found himself lunging, box-stepping and pulling out muscle memory he hadn’t even realised he still had to side-step in his first grapevine since his youthful trips to the line-dance bar that was the only one in his hometown that would look the other way when serving under twenty-ones. But, several tracks in he was keeping up (just, often on the wrong leg, waving the wrong arm) and sweating, (wow, he was sweating) and, shockingly, he was also enjoying himself. The atmosphere in the room was absolutely infectious. Lively, excited, energetic, only enhanced by the flashing colours and the hypnotic thud of the bass, Phil realised he was getting swept into it, powerless to resist, grinning, stepping, jumping on cue in a way he’d have called himself crazy to imagine only thirty minutes ago.

And then, of course, there was Clint.

He couldn’t stop looking at Clint. 

Of course, he was _supposed_ to be looking at Clint. 

If he wanted to follow the steps then he _had_ to look at Clint.

But, he was also _looking_ at Clint.

He couldn’t help it. He hoped it didn’t show to the whole class and he really didn’t want to be a creep but honestly, the way Clint _moved_. Free and easy and obviously comfortable in his body he had a kind of grace that lent even the silliest moves (cross-country skier, looking at you) an air of dignity that hit Phil hard in the competence kink. Looking away didn’t seem to be an option, even if he’d wanted to try.

And occasionally, just occasionally, Phil got the feeling that Clint might just be…looking at him too. The very idea sent tingles through his skin, sparkling as if he was becoming one with the disco balls, the type of tingles he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was quietly thrilling.

Every cheesy lyric in every absurdly upbeat song suddenly seemed to ring with deeper meaning and while Phil was very aware that even thinking that way was a whole new level of cliché and bringing him closer to infatuated teenager territory than he’d ever been, even when he _wa_ s a teenager, he couldn’t help that either. The thoughts just kept bouncing into his head.

_‘Pretty green eyes, So full of sparkle and such life…’_

What colour, Phil wondered, were Clint’s eyes? Blue? Green? Hazel? It had been too dark so far to tell for sure but whichever, they certainly did sparkle, as did Clint’s infectious grin, brighter when the lights glinted off his unfairly cute teeth. Teeth! Since when did he, Phil Coulson, think teeth were cute? But Clint’s _were_.

_‘This is a drill, This is a drill…’_

It didn’t feel like a drill. His heart pounded to the beat like the feet of an invading army, his senses all screamed like an air-raid siren and it felt like the a real deal, a real deal… 

_‘Boy, you belong to me, I got the recipe, And it's called black magic…’_

On that particular line Clint popped both arms out in front of himself, then drew one smoothly back, elbow bent and fingers just brushing his cheek in an approximation of firing an arrow and it was like he was casting some sort of magic. The way his muscles bunched, how his shoulder pulled his arm back into a perfect line, something in Clint’s stance just sang that he’d done it a million times before, so natural yet utterly dangerous…Phil was thoroughly spellbound. Enough so that the first time the move happened he was so busy admiring that he crashed straight into May who flashed him a look so insufferably smug that he had to turn away. Only to look back.

_‘I know what I want, And I want it now…’_

Yes. Well. Probably best if he didn’t think too hard about that one, Andrew’s shorts were baggy, but they weren’t that baggy.

It rushed in howling, a raw and visceral, building attraction like nothing Phil had ever felt before, a _want_ that hooked in firmly to his gut and made a home there. It arrived with such speed and impact that he was vaguely aware that he should be terrified, but he wasn’t. Instead he ached inside and out, pulled like iron towards a lodestone. 

So yes, looking at Clint wasn’t exactly a hardship.

But aside from being stunning, Phil quickly learned from the little comments he tossed out here and there amongst the instructions, that Clint was also kind, 

(“Nice grapevine Alison, you nailed it!”)

encouraging,

(“Nooo, your other left guys! Don’t worry, it comes around in the next chorus, let’s try again…”)

funny,

(“I wanna see you shake it like a polaroid picture, only asses that are blurry and hard to see properly will be accepted!”)

and not above a little snap,

(“Come on, I _know_ you work harder for Nat! Do you want me to tell her you’ve been slacking? I didn’t think so. So _jump!_ ”) 

Gorgeous and nice and adorable? Phil didn’t stand a chance.

By the time the class finished he was sweaty, panting, exhausted, thrilled and pretty much thoroughly mired in the depths of a crush. As the last beats and coloured strobes died away and the main lights came back on he dived for his water bottle and towel, emerging from his extremely necessary drink-and-wipe combo move only to find May watching him. He scowled.

“You,” he gulped down the water just so that he was able to accuse her, “totally set me up.”

May pressed a hand to her chest in such a display of injured innocence that Phil was astonished that her pants didn’t spontaneously catch fire, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t even try it Melinda. ‘Good for balance’ my ass. You _knew_ he’d be teaching today. You _set me up_.”

“Alright, fine,” May conceded happily, “maybe I did. But you said you were looking for fun and from what Nat tells me Clint’s extremely fun. Didn’t you think so?” 

“You know I did, you schemer,” Phil answered, hoping she didn’t realise exactly how much fun he’d been imagining Clint could be. He took another swig, swallowed and shrugged, “But even if he is, what do you expect me to do about it? I can’t exactly go marching up to the instructor of the class and ask…”

“Ask what?” A familiar, if slightly breathless voice, came from behind again and again Phil startled. Was this man a ninja? He took a second to glare at May _‘what happened to watching my six?’_ then turned to face Clint.

Blue.

They were blue.

Blue as blue.

Soooooo very blue.

Oh, damn, what had been Clint’s question?

“Classes,” Phil blurted, because he had to prolong this somehow, there was no question of not seeing Clint again, “I wanted to ask if you have more classes.”

Clint grinned, “I was just coming to tell you guys! Looked like you enjoyed it so, like, this is Nat’s class but I run one Tuesday and Friday nights if you wanted to come again. Tuesday’s next, obviously. If you can make it.”

May made a sad little noise, “What a shame, I can’t do Tuesdays.”

“I can.” The reply shot out of him so quickly that Phil almost felt his soul leave his body, “I can make Tuesdays. What time?”

“Hey, that’s great!” Clint’s face brightened even further, oh good god, _gorgeous_ , “It’s a later class, same place but it starts at eight. PM. That good for you?” 

“That’s good for me.”

The next smile almost took Phil clear off his feet. “Great! Tuesday it is then. You’ll need this to get through reception if May isn’t coming, it’s a guest membership card.” he handed Phil a plastic card with the gym logo, “If anyone stops you, just tell them you’re here for me.” Phil nodded as Clint smiled and moved off toward the lights, temporarily struck dumb by the images that phrasing had conjured up. Before Clint got too far he paused and looked back over his shoulder, “Gotta say, looking forward to seeing more of you there Phil.”

This time Phil was absolutely almost _certain_ he saw the wink.

Thoroughly winded, he leaned against a chair, just to catch his breath and attempt to process what exactly had just happened. Had he joined a gym or gotten a date? Both? May, when he looked at her, just gave him a very not-discrete thumbs up and he groaned quietly, letting his head fall forward. Which offered him an excellent view of his t-shirt and reminded him exactly what he looked like. He groaned again.

Tuesday at eight.

Was just two and a half days away.

He very much needed to go shopping.

>>===>>


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are, back again! I hope you all had a wonderful time in the holidays, I know I did :) Thank you for waiting for this update, I very much hope you enjoy! X

>>===>>

The _feeling_ woke Clint well before his alarm. There was a tingling through his veins, anticipation pooling hot in his gut and even though the sun was hardly even up and even though he usually made a point of having just the one five o’clock in every day thank you very much, it was undeniable pulling him up and out of sleep. Suddenly, ridiculously alert, he took stock. The hairs on his arms were standing on end and his skin felt tight, shivery, his heart bumped just a little too fast. It was sensual, almost sexual, he wasn’t sure what was causing it or what had brought it on, but he felt…wanting. Hungry, but in that good way that just promised more. It was, awesome. And even if he couldn’t quite place where exactly it was coming from, the expectation of good things was too rare, too heady to not take time to enjoy it. So instead of getting up Clint closed his eyes again, relaxed and let himself float in the feeling, shivering, soaking it up so that it lingered and softened his limbs even when he eventually did have to drag himself out of the blankets to do his morning stretches.

He was already in the shower and halfway through slowly washing his hair when it hit him like a Tom and Jerry cartoon mallet. 

It was _Tuesday_.

Fuck, he could almost see the tweety-birds and stars circling his head. How had he forgotten?

Tuesday meant _Phil_ and Tuesday was _today_ so _today_ was the day Clint was going to see him again.

The shivers turned to shudders as the almost sexual mood became definitely sexual and a bolt of absolute lust shook him. Clint's cock, lazily half-hard since he’d woken, surged properly and definitely to attention and he had his hand round himself before he’d even thought about it. He hesitated but then shrugged, grinning, because, shit, why not? He was already in the shower and there were worse ways to start the day…Bracing himself with one hand on the tiles, he let the warm water roll down his back as he stroked, tight but slow, and let his thoughts wander. 

To Phil.

Ohhh, Phil.

Clint wanted him. Badly. 

Stupidly badly really given that they’d exchanged about four sentences and one class, but even in that one short hour something about that man had snuck under Clint’s skin like a burr and he’d been itching ever since. Clint smiled, thinking back. Phil had arrived at class with a face like thunder, clearly not wanting to be there and Clint hadn’t expected…but then he’d made that joke, the tentacles joke and _fuck_ how his face had changed when he smiled, turning all to cool handsomeness and sly curve to his eyebrow. Clint had been a gonner in that instant. But the rest of the class too, it’d just been… He pushed his hips forward, rocking into his own touch, overtaken by the memory. Bodies he knew, they were half his business and Phil’s body…Clint shuddered again. Even under that absolutely fucking hideous work out kit Phil was obviously fit and he’d carried himself like a man used to knowing and controlling exactly what his body could do. Like a badass. A very sexy badass. Yes, he’d been a bit stiff, slightly awkward at the beginning but by the end of the class he’d loosened enough to show flashes of not just ease but a real joy and something in that mix pushed at all of Clint’s buttons. He wanted to explore it, find out what else besides a decent beat and a booty shake could take Phil over that edge, make him come undone a little. Or a lot. Christ, he wanted to unravel him

His cock throbbed hard at the thought and Clint groaned, fisting himself faster as memory slid into fantasy, thoughts of slipping his hands under the hem of that shitty shirt and finding out what that body felt like underneath…wrapping his hands round the muscles of Phil’s arms…what he would look like on his knees…or what he’d be like to look up at if Clint was on _his_ knees… It didn’t take much, a few half-formed, filthy thoughts, a couple of rough pulls and Clint was coming, spilling over his knuckles, his head full of Phil.

After, he took a moment to recover, leaning hard on the wall until his knees stopped shaking, watched the evidence wash down the drain and laughed at himself. It was crazy, it really was, to be this wound up about some random guy and he should know better, but the truth was that he really, really hoped that he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree. Surely he couldn’t be, could he? Fuck, he hoped not. Clint knew full well that he’d switched on full flirt-mode, hadn’t been able to not after May’s seriously unsubtle hint about Phil’s preferences, but there hadn’t really been time for him to properly judge how well it had landed. But…Phil had said he’d come to the class, hadn’t he? He’d taken the card.

He’d come.

Christ, Clint hoped he’d come.

When he finally managed to drag himself out of the shower and into a towel he caught sight of the clock in his bedroom and groaned again, this time for much less fun reasons.

He’d better get to work. 

Just how exactly was he meant to get through the next thirteen hours? 

>>===>>

“Clinton Francis Barton, you get over here!” 

His name rang out loud even through the buzz of the café area at _Stark’s_. Clint looked over to the source of the shout and grinned when he saw Darcy scowling at him behind from behind the juice bar, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. He ambled over.

“Hey Darce, what’s up?”

As he got closer she scowled even more, “You are! Or, specifically, your clients are. Almost every single person coming out of your class this morning has dragged their tired ass to this bar and ordered enough drinks to drown a dolphin and if I have to juice one more orange my hands are going to fall right off. What are you doing to them in there?”

“Whoops,” Clint put up his hands in apology, “I’ve got some energy to burn off I guess but I didn’t realise I was working them so hard. I’ll go easier on the next group, yeah?”

“You’d better!” Darcy growled, “Tony might enjoy having profits but I enjoy having fingers a lot more. It’s lucky for you, I made this earlier, while I still liked you.” She headed over to the fridge, pulled out a bottle full of livid purple juice and slid it over. Clint took it and tipped an imaginary cap to Darcy until she smiled and came to lean on the counter near him, “So, go on then. Spill. What’s up? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Clint ducked his head, thankful that he could blame his flushed face on the recently finished class, “Nothing.”

“Oh suuurrreeeee,” Darcy drawled, her smile turning into more of a knowing smirk, “I believe you. Well, you enjoy your ‘nothing’ when it gets here.” She nodded over towards a table, “I think Nat is waiting for you.”

Sure enough the gym’s main dance instructor, and Clint’s best friend, Natasha was sitting across the cafe, sipping at her lunchtime smoothie.

“Thanks Darce.” Clint picked up his drink, “I owe you one.”

“You do!” she agreed as he started to walk away, “Be kinder to your victims so that they’re kinder to their bartender!”

“Cross my heart!” Clint called, still chuckling when he reached the table. Pulling out a chair and spinning it so he could sit straddling the backrest, he thumped down and leaned forward, “Hey Nat. Good classes today?”

She nodded, “Good enough. Mercifully even Tots Ballet managed to keep time for perhaps an entire half of the hour so I don’t even have a headache yet. And Wanda had a spectacular session earlier. That balance work you did with her really improved her transitions. She’s going to add some of it to her audition piece.”

“Hey that’s awesome,” Clint said, Wanda was a great kid and she deserved to get in to whichever school she wanted, “glad to help.”

“So,” Nat sipped at her drink again, then put the cup down and sat forward, making one of those abrupt shifts in body language from ‘casual’ to ‘all business’ that had earned her some of her reputation for being a hardass and that Clint so enjoyed watching, “today is Tuesday.”

Come to think of it though, he enjoyed them a lot less when they were pointed at him. Carefully, he kept his face and body neutral, “Yup.” 

“And?”

“And what?”

“Clint,” Nat narrowed her eyes at him, “since Friday you’ve ‘casually mentioned’ Phil at least eleven times and told me the tentacle joke three. There’s no point in pretending you’re not currently counting the hours until your evening Clubbercise. So. Do you think he’ll come?”

Clint gave up and sagged over the back of his chair, “I don’t know. He said he would.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t. I’m a grown-up Nat, I liked him but I’ll cope.”

“Leaving aside the blatant untruth in that assertion, fine. And what if he does?”

“Nat!” Clint groaned, “If Phil does come, then we’ll see what happens. Probably nothing. Is there a reason why I’m getting the third degree just because I might possibly see a guy I might possibly like later? You’re making me nervous.”

“Possibly like?”

“Alright, a guy I definitely like. But still, nervous.”

“I’m sorry, Little Bird,” the private nickname softened her tone, “I just want you to be careful.”

“Careful?” Clint was misunderstanding her on purpose and they both knew it, but he didn’t want to let go of the anticipation still sparkling in his gut and look at the reality Nat was point him at. Instead, he frowned. “Why careful? Does _Stark’s_ suddenly have some regulations or something that I don’t know about? Am I going to get fired if I ask him out?”

Natasha snorted, “Regulations? You know full well that Tony’s fraternisation policy goes solely by ‘consenting adults’. _And_ you also know that’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Natasha,” Clint sighed, “I gave him a membership card, not an engagement ring. I’m attracted to him, not attached.”

Apparently, she wasn’t going to be deterred, “Clint…”

Conceding defeat, he slumped over the chair back, “Alright, alright, I see what you’re getting at, I do. I know that I’ve got a history of falling fast and then hitting bottom, you’ve pointed that out more than once when you scrape me up. I _know_.” It was true. He really did. Memories of the many times he’d crashed headfirst into a new relationship thinking he’d found something amazing and then just crashed straight out the other side with his heart in bits when they cheated or left, got overwhelmed or just weren’t who he’d built them up to be, made him grimace. Nat called him a ‘romantic’ and it wasn’t totally a compliment. Internally, Clint sighed. He was enthusiastic, maybe too enthusiastic, gave too easy, got in too deep too soon or, at least that what Nat had said and she’d spent more than a couple of long nights after his last affair had gone sour telling him so, half comforting and half lecturing. And she was the one in a stable long-term relationship so he tried to listen to her advice, he really did. Just…it was in his nature, throwing himself in, usually if he was doing something, then he was _doing_ it and that was hard to shake. It was something he liked about himself if he was honest. But maybe he should try? He had had enough of getting his heart squashed, and of heartache and next time (this time?) he was suddenly determined, he was going to do it differently, he honestly was. He could be more cautious, steady, _normal_ , not mess things up from the start again. “I know, alright. I have listened.” He reassured her, and then sighed again, “You are kinda taking the shine off this for me you know.”

She winced, “Clint, I’m not trying to ruin anything for you, to bring you down, but…”

“Nat, please, I get it alright? I know I need to keep my head. Don’t worry about me. Who knows, this whole ‘Phil’ thing might be nothing. He might not even be into me. And if he is, I’ll be ‘sensible’ about it. Good?”

Nat searched his face for a long moment as he air-quoted her favourite word, then, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, nodded, “Good enough.”

“Good.” reaching out, Clint touched her hand lightly, because Nat’s concern was not to be taken for granted. Not many people got it and anyone who did should feel properly privileged. Clint did, so he smiled and squeezed a bit, “Thanks though, you know I appreciate you looking out for me.” 

The corner of her mouth twitched, “Anytime. And for what it’s worth, I do very much hope that he is into you.” 

“Jesus,” Clint huffed, “so do I.”

“He’d be a fool not to be. You’re a catch.”

“Aw, Nat…”

“Mind you, he would still be a very attractive fool...” 

“Nat!” Clint laughed though he absolutely thought the same the same and it sent his stomach swooping. Super casually, and not at all to dislodge the butterflies threatening to roost, he raised his arms and stretched them out above his head, “So…” he asked “Do me another favour? Change the subject and give me something else to think about before the waiting sends me nuts?”

At that Natasha finally grinned properly, “You have time to go spar?”

In that moment Clint was very glad that his best friend was not only the dance instructor, but also one of _Stark’s_ best mixed martial-arts trainers. He grinned back, “Yes. Please.”

>>===>>

Despite Nat’s extremely effective distraction techniques Clint still was a mess by the time eight-fifteen rolled around and the Clubbercise class members started trickling in. His nerves were jangling, flickering almost as much as the disco lights for the class set-up and his palms tingled even as he dug his thumbs into them. He tried to hide it, checking in the class members, swiping cards and chatting with as much ease as he could muster but he couldn’t help glancing at the door every few seconds. It was like watching an invisible game of tennis, class –door, class – door, class – door, his neck started to ache. 

Eight-thirty rolled round and Phil hadn’t appeared. Clint’s heart sank. The level of disappointment was just, stupid, irrational but it dragged on him anyway. He’d been so sure…

By eight-thirty-five he really couldn’t stall anymore. He had to start the class, even if his feet did feel like lead. His whole body did actually and he didn’t quite know how he was going to move let alone dance but he had to, even if just for his own pride. So, he switched on his shoes and headset, turned to call the class into their lines and…there Phil was. Just standing there in the middle of the front line, suddenly in Clint’s eye as if all the lights in the room were shining on that one spot.

Clint’s butterflies exploded into a tornado.

He'd come!

Phil offered a little one-handed wave, wiggling his fingers discretely. His mouth quirked up a little at Clint’s surprised look, as if he’d seen something he’d wanted but hadn’t been sure he was going to get and Clint had to smother the huge grin threatening to pop the top of his head right off. He tried for some dignity, looked around for composure, failed to find any and settled for welcoming the class, mainly because he needed to remember that there were actually other people there before he threw himself off the stage in the hope of landing on Phil’s lips. “Alright, happy Tuesday! How is everyone tonight? Ready to glow?”

The class yelled out a happy affirmative and warmth surged through Clint at the way Phil joined in, smiling and bouncing in line with the rest. He held down yet another grin.

“Okay then, let’s get started. Keep up as best you can and remember…” he looked at Phil as pointedly as he dared, “…you’re here to enjoy yourself.” The look Phil sent him back… fuck, those eyes, even from that distance… Clint took a deep breath. “Here we go!”

He threw himself into the first routine with so much energy the class were groaning and grumbling almost at once, knowing they were in for a tough hour, but there was just no holding back. The fact that Phil had actually turned up was sending Clint’s pulse racing, all the lead in his limbs seemed to have turned to fire and he had to work it out somehow before it burned him up…Clint pulled his mind away from exactly how he’d like to work it out before the images of Phil, close and hot, could overwhelm him again like they had that morning. There were fifty-five minutes to get through before he could talk to Phil. He could manage fifty-five minutes.

Clint had been an instructor for a few years and he was extremely thankful for that as he went through the majority of the routines on auto-pilot, trying and probably failing miserably not stare at Phil following along. But Phil just looked so good! Mouth wateringly good in fact. The tired, tatty kit he’d worn at the last class was gone, replaced by slim fitting shorts and short-sleeved shirt in a rich, dark navy (or black maybe, but probably navy, it was hard to tell, fuck these fucking lights) with slashes and flashes of bright blue that Clint just knew would make those gorgeous eyes of Phil’s pop. Damn, the want he’d been carrying since waking surged again, hot and sharp, threatening his hair-thin control. He had to get a grip! The shirt was perfectly appropriate, smart and decent, but it clung tightly as Phil moved, twisted and turned to the beat and Clint’s instructions (and fuck, yes, wasn’t that was a hot image too, a man like that following his instructions? Clint had to shove that train of thought out of his head pretty damn quickly) leaving pretty much none of Phil’s shape to the imagination. It was a major improvement and a complete and utter torture. God, though, he had to stop staring before Phil started thinking he had no class whatsoever.

The first few songs ended and Clint turned down the music, lifted the lights just a little, “Water break! Grab a quick drink everyone, you’re all doing great.” He watched as Phil walked over to the side of the room to his bag, hoping he was hiding effectively behind his own bottle and towel because, whoa, not staring suddenly wasn’t an option. Phil’s outfit looked even better in the light, pulling close across his chest, the colours outlining and skimming the curve of Phil’s ribs where, Clint was very sure, his palm would fit absolutely perfectly…Clint blinked and scrubbed the towel across his face to stop himself giving that outfit the in-depth examination it absolutely deserved, because it would _not_ be subtle. 

But, fuck, even in snatched glances, it looked amazing. 

And yet also, sort of…pristine? Phil seemed to be a well put-together guy but…Clint swallowed badly and coughed, was there a chance that the shirt was new? That Phil had bought that outfit…for him? Because that would be… He looked back at Phil out of the corner of his eye and was just in time to see one of the ladies he was talking to finish and reach to touch something on the hem at his back. A sudden surge of jealousy threatened Clint’s sanity because if anyone was going to touch then it was going to be him, but then Phil pulled at his shirt until whatever it was came away in his palm. He glanced at it, scowled and then looked over towards Clint and as he stuffed it into his bag Clint could see what it was. A store tag? Clint’s gut clenched. He’d been right. That shirt was _new_ , and from the way Phil was looking at him, a little wary, but with an undeniable layer of heat, it had _definitely_ been bought to impress him. _Jesus_. It took a lot of self-restraint to stay on that stage but instead he met Phil’s eyes and gave him a slow smile, raising a brow and deliberately touching the tip of his tongue to his teeth just to show Phil exactly how impressed he was. Phil ducked his head but his lips curved up in a tiny acknowledgement and when Clint turned back to dim the lights and start the next track he could feel the pressure of Phil’s eyes on his back. And lower. He looked at the clock again and stifled a groan. Forty-five minutes. He could do forty-five minutes…Couldn’t he?

As it turned out, Clint could, and yeah, so it probably wasn’t the best class he’d ever taught but it was very hard find the ability to care. By the time the cool down song died away he was wound so tight from the hour of watching Phil while trying not to look too much like he was watching Phil that he could barely do any of the stretches he always told his class were so important and he certainly couldn’t manage his usual, coherent and cheerful goodbyes. Instead he slowly and carefully turned off the light and sound system while thanking his lucky stars that _Stark’s_ was high tech enough that nothing actually needed packing away. The way he felt, the way his whole body was thrumming with nerves and anticipation, he’d have been bound to drop something. Instead each he slowly flicked off each switch, pressed each button, not meaning to stall, but…god, he’d been looking forward to this moment, seeing Phil again, talking to him again, since the moment he’d left on Friday, but now that it was here he was…what, afraid? He shook his head sharply to knock the thought loose. Sensible didn’t have to mean scared did it?

Finally there was nothing left to fiddle with, no more excuses. Breathing in deep, Clint turned back to the rapidly emptying room and blew the air out again in a quiet whoosh of relief because there was Phil, sipping from his bottle, making small talk with the last of the class and obviously…lingering. The sight of him, just…there, Clint’s doubts dropped away, the nervousness sweetened, tightened back into that heady anticipation he’d woken with and he shivered. What the fuck was he staying for? There was a totally gorgeous man waiting. Enough with the delays. 

Jumping down from the stage Clint walked over to the small group where Phil was still standing, still chatting. One of them was obviously leaving and as Clint got closer she picked up her bag and made for the door, calling out, “Bye everyone, bye Clint, see you all Friday!” 

Alerted, Phil spun and when he saw Clint the corner of his mouth turned up in a little quirky smile that had absolutely no right being as hot as it was, “Aha, caught you this time.” Phil’s workout flush deepened but his eyes still flicked to give Clint a quick but thorough once over. The smile widened, Phil was apparently pleased with what he saw. “I might start to wonder if you’re trying to make a habit of sneaking up on me.”

Oh, that voice, so smooth and controlled, Clint had forgotten just how sexy it was. Well. Two could play at that game. Clint swallowed (and yes, he saw the way Phil watched his throat work, holy jesus) and somehow he found some front, some sass, stopping a few steps away from Phil and resting his weight on one leg, not quite popping a hip but enough to show off some of his shape. “Not at all. I just came over to say…” Fuck, what _could_ he say? Certainly not the ‘I was just wondering if you’d like to take me into the back room and absolutely pound the life out of me’ that his brain was screaming, but also he couldn’t risk making Phil uncomfortable with the rest of the class by asking him out for coffee or something in front of the few who were left so what could….ah, “…to say that, well, I overheard you talking to May at last class, about not wanting to dance at her wedding? Just, if you wanted, I could give you some lessons. Private lessons. If you want.”

Phil’s eyes darkened and he took a step forwards, close enough that Clint could feel the heat rising off him, forcing him to hold down another shiver. “That actually does sound good.” Phil said, “When might you be free?”

Oh, it was too perfect an opportunity to waste. Clint shrugged with pretend carelessness (though the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth probably made the acting pointless), “Actually, I’m free now, this was my last class tonight. The club closes fairly soon, but there are still rooms upstairs we could use? If you’d like.”

“Absolutely.” Phil caught his bottom lip between his teeth just for a second and Clint had to resist the urge to swoop down and tease it free with his tongue, “Do I have time to shower first?”

No, no no no there was no way Clint could wait for that. Waiting even five minutes, especially five minutes when there would be a wet and naked Phil in the building would just kill him. He would legitimately spontaneously combust or something. He shook his head, “Nah, don’t worry about it. You can always grab one after. When we’re finished.” jesus christ Barton, “You know,” he stumbled, “with the lesson.”

Phil eyed him steadily, “All right then. Lead the way.”

Clint nodded, said quick goodbyes to the rest of the stragglers and headed out of the hall, Phil following. The walk through the corridors and up the stairs of the various buildings that had been smushed together to form the warren that was Stark’s seemed endless. Clint’s senses, sharp enough on a normal day, were hitting high alert, tensing, reaching out until he felt that he might actually vibrate out of his body. He was hyper-aware of the fall of Phil’s footsteps. He could hear his _breathing_ for god’s sake, still frustratingly calm and measured and he tortured himself as they walked with wondering what it would take to make it go rougher, ragged. It was all Clint could do not to push Phil into the nearest wall and kiss right there him until he found out and the two minute walk was some evil test of willpower and restraint, like one of Nat’s meditation challenges, one of Darcy’s crazy detoxes. He was no good at avoiding temptation during those either. 

Finally, after the heat-death and re-birth of a few universes, they reached the door of the building’s remotest studio and Clint keyed the door open, ushered Phil in and locked it behind them. The room, though some of it was being used for storage of mats and stuff, was mainly laid out for ballet, complete with barre and mirrored wall. Clint couldn’t look at himself, certain that he’d see a wild man about to explode with wanting. Instead he concentrated on Phil, moving him into the centre of the room and coming round to stand facing him. And then he froze. Suddenly he didn’t know how to begin. There were so many things he wanted to do to this man that he didn’t know how to ask if he _could_ , where to start. Phil for his part just stood, watching him.

“Um, ok,” Clint began, and wasn’t that just so smooth? For fuck’s sake…he pushed on, “So, um, the thing about dancing is that it’s all in the rhythm. Of the music. Is it going to be like, classical music at the wedding? Or more modern stuff?”

Phil shrugged, mouth twitching, apparently not going to be any help, “to be honest, I’m not sure.”

“Oh, right. Well, it doesn’t matter really,” Christ, what the in hell was he talking about? “it’s all the same when it comes to keeping the beat. I can…put some music on in a second, but really,” finally brave, he stepped forward reached out, hands definitely not trembling, not even slightly, and laid them lightly on Phil’s sides. Fuck, even that tiny contact was enough to make him want to gasp after so long thinking about touching Phil, “really it’s all in the hips.” Oh, the damned shirt wasn’t only tight, it was _thin_ , thin enough that Clint could feel the heat of Phil in his palms, feel the slight hitch in his breath when they touched. Phil met his eyes and they stood for a long second, just inches apart, unmoving, staring, the air between them practically crackling. Eventually, Clint either had to end the silence or pass out, “so…do you have any…questions?”

Without breaking their stare Phil lifted his own hand to slide lightly up Clint’s forearm, “Just one.”

Clint’s skin went to goosebumps in its wake, “Yeah?” he croaked, “What’s that?”

Reaching Clint’s shoulder Phil smoothed slowly over it, thumb just grazing the hollow of his collarbone, “When exactly are we going to stop pretending that you actually brought me up here to talk about dancing?”

Thank. 

God. 

The wave of mixed relief and lust was utterly dizzying and Clint swayed forward under its onslaught. Slipping one hand further round Phil’s back, Clint pulled him even closer until their lips were almost touching. As Phil’s breath ghosted hot against his mouth Clint finally let himself grin, “How about, right the fuck now?”

>>===>>


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last my lovelies, this week was my birthday so we can all celebrate with a little smut :) And of course some very sensible and yet utterly oblivious conversation...
> 
> With huge thanks to every single one of you who comments on this, writing it is taking a bit longer to do than I anticipated (they just won't stop having...fun...!) and your support and thoughts and reactions really do keep me going. You're amazing.
> 
> Enjoy, and if you do, please let me know! x

>>===>>

“When exactly are we going to stop pretending that you actually brought me up here to talk about dancing?”

Phil heard his own question and it sounded a lot braver than he felt, jesus, he was so nervous. The walk up had been agony, he’d almost passed out from trying so hard to keep his breathing steady and it caught hard in his throat now, snagging on sheer dread when Clint froze. He felt his heart stop in that endless pause and then Clint grinned, leaned in and suddenly it was pounding again, racing with passion and nerves and sheer, heady lust for this ridiculously gorgeous man.

“How about, right the fuck now?” Clint asked and yes, absolutely _abso_ -fucking- _lutely_ **YES.**

It wouldn’t have been a suave reply, for all that it would have been extremely enthusiastic, but Phil never got chance to say it. Instead, Clint surged forward and claimed his mouth in a clash of lips and teeth and need that rocked Phil back on his heels. For a second, it was a bad kiss, too fast, too hard, too messy but then Phil gripped Clint’s shoulder, pulled him closer and they twisted, their mouths slid together and suddenly everything just _fit_. Clint moaned as Phil licked deep into his mouth and the muffled sound sent a hard shudder through Phil. Getting Clint to make that sound again and again and again was suddenly the only thing in the universe that Phil wanted. And god, did he want. Wrapping Clint in his arms, marvelling at the beauty of his skin, the long planes on his back, Phil dragged him in tighter. The kiss kept going and going, both of them bending to it so easily that it might have been their thousandth and not their first. Desire and enthusiasm filled in the gaps left by unfamiliarity and neither of them held anything back. Clint’s hands, which had slipped the gods knew when from holding Phil’s hips to gripping his ass, clenched, his fingers kneading into Phil’s muscle and finally Phil had to break away, just to gasp. Clint grinned and Phil took the opportunity to make it turn it back into a moan, kissing messily along Clint’s jaw, teasing the stubble with his tongue until he could bury his mouth into his throat. He stayed, working behind the hinge of his jaw, sucking at the pulse there until Clint’s skin started to pink and Clint swayed, gasping. Phil steadied him in the small of his back, kissed his way up and growled in his ear,

“Fuck, you’re beautiful. You have no idea how often I’ve thought about doing this since Saturday. How I’ve wanted you.”

“I might,” Clint’s voice shook. He pushed his hips forward into Phil and Phil had to break away from worrying Clint’s earlobe to just rest his mouth against Clint’s skin and groan when he felt the hard line pressing into his thigh, “If my shower could talk…”

“Oh, jesus,” Phil’s cock throbbed at the implication of that, the images, “jesus god…”

He flicked his tongue round the shell of Clint’s ear just to make him gasp again, then dropped back to his mouth. There was no awkwardness this time and even less hesitation as he pressed into Clint and Clint pressed back, their tongues sliding together, slick, dizzying. Lost in Clint’s heat and fight Phil barely noticed when Clint started to move, to walk them both backwards. It was a graceless stumble, made all the more difficult because neither of them were willing to take their hands off each other, but eventually they reached wherever destination Clint had in mind and Phil fell as Clint leaned his weight sideways, sending them both tumbling into a thick gym mat. They landed heavily in a tangle of limbs and rolled together, bumping, crushing, but even then not once breaking off from kissing. When they eventually stopped moving, Phil realised that he was lying over Clint, braced on his arms and slotted neatly between his spread legs and jesus christ there had never been anywhere he more wanted to be in his entire life. Leaning down he pushed the kiss deeper, using his weight to hold Clint in place while he wriggled and stretched and moaned under him. Clint was so responsive, so willing and, Phil just had to pull back to see, _god_ , so beautiful. It was almost unbelievable. His face was flushed, his eyes a little wild and his lips, his lips were red and kiss bitten, still curving up into that grin Phil was rapidly becoming addicted to. Dizzyingly lovely, he made Phil’s head swim with more want than he’d felt in a long, long time. Slowing for a second, needing a moment, Phil pulled his knees under him and drew back just a little, still pressing close but taking more of his own weight. Clint groaned and Phil felt the lack of it on his lips. As replacement he pulled one of Clint’s hands from his back and brought it up to his mouth, sucked on the thin skin on his wrist, grazed his teeth against the heat of Clint’s racing pulse,

“What exactly,” he asked between kissing, nibbling, “were you thinking about in that shower?”

“You.” Clint bucked his hips again, hard, so that Phil swore, sparks shooting up his spine, “I mean, look at you. Fuck, you’re hot. When I saw you at class tonight I fucking nearly cancelled the whole thing, wanted to drag you away so bad.” With his free hand he tugged at the hem of Phil’s shirt, bunching the fabric and staring at where it pulled across Phil’s chest, “This fucking shirt. I mean, _fuck_. Did you buy this just for me?”

Phil felt himself blush even as he preened under the attention, but the gravelly catch in Clint’s voice made him want to give him the truth, “Yes.”

“Fuck.” Clint’s eyes flashed dark, greedy and he pulled Phil down and kissed him hard, bruisingly quick, “It’s awesome. You look stunning. Get it _off_.”

Laughing, Phil sat back onto his heels in the soft mat and opened his arms. Clint scrambled upright to reach him and made short work of the shirt, grabbing in both hands and ripping it up over Phil’s head and throwing it to fall…somewhere. Who cared?

“Aw, chest chair, yes.” Clint groaned and Phil shivered as Clint ran his fingers through it, twisting pulling gently, dropping his mouth to Phil’s collar bone. He thought, briefly that perhaps they should have felt too sweaty and gross for this, given the workout they’d just had downstairs, but he didn’t he just felt…amazing. And Clint, god he felt incredible. Tasted incredible too. There was only one thing could make it better. Clint’s vest, (‘I can glow all night’) wasn’t exactly covering all that much, but still there was fabric between him and skin and it couldn’t be bourne. He stilled Clint’s stroking hands and when Clint glanced up in question slid one finger down into its neckline, pulling it suggestively,

“Fair’s fair?”

Clint nodded, “Fuck yes.” 

Adorably, he actually raised his arms so Phil could pull the vest up over his head, so Phil did, and then promptly got distracted halfway because oh god, Clint’s chest was a genuine work of art. Golden skin, a sparse sprinkling of hair and oh, the solid curves of his pecs, Phil’s mouth watered. Unable to resist he ducked and licked quickly across one pink nipple, smirking again when it instantly hardened and Clint squirmed and swore, “Fucking…! Fucking hell, that’s not fair! I’m still all...fuck!” He was still trapped, vest half over his head, arms in the air and Phil took full advantage of his predicament, turning the lick into a kiss and then a firm suck while Clint struggled and swore and wriggled free. When he finally got himself loose, throwing his shirt the same way Phil’s had gone, Clint pulled Phil’s head up to glare at him, panting, “Shit, you’re dangerous, aren’t you?”

For answer Phil just smiled and dropped back to his heels, pulling at Clint’s waist so that Clint came up after him, pulling more until he wriggled forward to sitting in Phil’s lap, his legs locked round Phil’s waist, their cocks, still cruelly trapped in shorts, snugged together. Clint half laughed, half moaned and rocked himself down into Phil, repeating the move when Phil gasped, repeating again when he shuddered. God, he felt…Phil wanted to eat him alive. 

Keeping the rocking rhythm and bracing Clint’s back with his arms, Phil tipped forward until Clint was almost hanging in his grasp, held up by Phil, the hand he had round his neck and his own locked legs, muscles crunching as he lifted his head to see up, “What…”

“Shh…” Phil soothed, and bent his head down, licking a hot line up Clint’s ribs. He tasted of fresh sweat, salt and hot skin, he tasted like sex, like fucking sunshine and Phil could hardly get enough.

“Fuuuuccccckkk” Clint sighed and let his head drop back, giving himself over to Phil’s arms.   
Phil enthusiastically accepted the offering, tasting, licking, biting him everywhere from the top of his abs to his shoulder, returning again and again to give his hard nipples teasing attention until Clint was actually shaking in his hold, gasping sweetly and writhing with every swipe of his tongue.

Phil would have happily stayed there forever, longer, but eventually Clint’s gasps turned back into words, “Stop, stop, please, enough, enough now, please….” He pushed at Phil’s arms until Phil leaned back, pulled them both up and the second they were upright again Clint surged back into his lap. Taking Phil’s face between his hands he pressed in and kissed him so hungrily, tongue plundering the depths of his mouth as if chasing his own taste, rocking his hips, that Phil was suddenly the one shaking. 

“Oh shit,” Clint groaned, “I want, I want….” his hand slipped down Phil’s front to toy with his waistband, teasing at it, his fingers just dipping underneath, “…can I?”

The wave of ferocious, boiling want that rushed through Phil’s blood would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t been down already. The fact that this man, this bloody stunning, Adonis of a man wanted him…he shook with it again and his voice caught, “ _Yes_ , oh god yes. _Please_.”

Phil’s shorts were tight but thank god stretchy and when Clint pulled the waistband down as far as it would go, pushing it halfway over his as, his cock practically leapt free. God, he was so hard that even just the touch of cool air was a shocking caress, but he only had seconds to feel it before Clint’s hand wrapped warm round him and stroked him firmly, root to tip,

“Fuck!” Phil bucked up hard into Clint’s grip and Clint grinned, deadly,

“That’s it, that’s it,” he kept his strokes even, maddeningly just below the edge of quick, the motion already becoming slick with the way Phil was leaking, “hell, you’re fucking gorgeous, look at you, just fucking look at you…”

Phil dragged himself away from the mesmerising sight of his own cock pushing wetly through Clint’s fist and lifted Clint’s chin with shaking fingers so that he could meet his eyes instead, “Fair’s…” he panted, “fair.”

Clint’s jaw clenched, “Fuck yes.” With one last, slow pull he let go of Phil and, chuckling when Phil groaned in complaint and fought his waistband further down, stood with surprising grace to rip down his own shorts. Showing frankly astounding balance he stood on one leg and lifted the other free, letting the shorts fall, still hooked but unnoticed round his ankle, then quickly lowered himself back down into Phil. His cock, just as hard and flushed as Phil’s, grazed Phil’s lips as he sat and Phil lunged forward, suddenly desperate for a taste. Clint was too fast but any noise of disappointment Phil might have made turned quickly into a low cry as Clint settled himself back into his lap, wrapped his legs round him again and pressed their cocks together, rocking his hips to push them both through his hand. Rough calluses caught on tender skin and Phil called out wordlessly, bucking up into the firebrand of Clint’s grip. Lifting one hand he cupped the back of Clint’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, joined his other hand to Clint’s and they worked themselves and each other, cocks sliding frantically through their shared hold. It was blazing, a storm of sensation and it was all happening much too fast and yet absolutely perfectly, absolutely rightly. Phil panted, hissing through his teeth, he couldn’t, couldn’t hold on…

“I...oh hell, I…nngh!” 

Clint’s free hand tightened on his Phil’s back, scratching, Clint choked “Yes, yes, come on…” and Phil’s orgasm punched out of him, covering both their hands, their bellies, sending him absolutely wordless. For long seconds he lost track of anything the world beyond the tight circle of Clint’s hand and the consuming pleasure of the pulse in his gut. The world went briefly white. When Phil came back Clint was still there on his knee, his hands still but whining and rocking frantically the tension evident in every line of his body. He was so, so close to the edge and yes, god yes, Phil absolutely needed to see him come right _now_. He shifted his grip from Clint’s neck to the centre of his shoulders and tipped him back so that he was bracing his weight again, one handed. It wasn’t a pose he could hold for long, but Phil was fairly sure wasn’t going to need to. Helplessly, Clint threw his hands out for support, for balance and Phil used the space to grip him mercilessly, using the slide of his own come to slick the way, stripping him until he threw his head back and gasped between sobbing breaths,

“Fu..fuck, fuck…”

“You’re alright.” Phil told him, greedy, relentless “Come on, show me, I want to see.” Clint’s back flexed as he strained up into Phil’s hand, “What do you want?” Phil asked him, twisting round the head of his cock once and then when Clint shrieked, again and again, “God, tell me. Anything you want. Do you want me to fuck you? I will,” he nodded, every word a promise “Do you want to fuck me? You can. God, you can. Anything, whatever you wa…”

“Gah!” Clint’s head fell back even further and his whole body clenched as he came, striping them both in such a wantonly beautiful display that, even spent as it was, Phil’s cock twitched valiantly in the sheer triumph of it. 

When Clint’s shudders died down Phil lowered him down to the mat, releasing him slolwy and then flopped down too. They lay, side by side, just touching, silent except for their heaving breathing until Clint laughed,

“Holy shit.” he rolled to lie on his side and look at Phil, “That. Was. _Awesome_.”

Phil chuckled, “It absolutely was.” He felt fantastic, worn out and sated in the best way and blanketed with a wave of warmth that had little to do with the exercise. He moved face Clint, then grimaced, “Damn. I definitely need that shower now though.” He blinked, suddenly feeling less warm as the reality of where they were started to creep in, “Will they,” he asked slowly, “will the one downstairs still be open?”

Clint yawned and shook his head. “Nope, sorry. The club’s closed. The cleaners’ll probably be in by now.”

“Oh. Right.” He would have to make do then. Though how he was going to get that shirt on over the mess he was in was something he didn’t want to think about. His bag was in the corner where he dropped it as he’d come in but there was only his already sweaty towel in there, and a light sweatshirt that really wouldn’t cover his dignity if he had to go home without his shirt. Shit, he’d been so busy thinking about getting to Clint that he’d just not thought about any...afterwards. He grimaced, “Damn. Never mind. I’ll…manage.”

Beside him, Clint went very still and then he shook his head again and hauled himself up off the mat. Phil watched the floor as Clint scuffled his way back into his shorts and picked up both their discarded shirts, not sure exactly what he was supposed to be doing. It wasn’t that he was disappointed with how the hour had gone, god no, or that it was ending, exactly, it was just… something flew at his face and he snatched it out of the air just before it hit. It was his shirt. Startled, he looked up to find Clint with his own shirt wadded up one hand, the other, he was holding out towards Phil. Surprised, Phil took it and Clint pulled him to his feet.

“Fuck it.” he said, “Grab your bag. You can come up to mine.”

>>===>>

“So, where exactly are we going?” Phil frowned as he followed Clint across the studio to a door set into the far wall.

Clint started keying in a long code to the lock-pad, “Told you. My place.”.

“There’s an exit this way?”

“Nope.”

“You…live in the gym?”

Clint laughed. “Almost, I guess. It’s this way.”

The door opened onto a set of stairs topped with another door and Phil followed Clint up, wondering where on earth he was going.

“It’s a bit of a fluke really,” Clint narrated as they climbed, “one of those weird ‘useless space’ things that apparently happens when you shove a whole load of old buildings together and I didn’t have anywhere to live sorted when I started, so Stark let me crash here.” he keyed in a second code as the second door, “It was only meant to be for a bit but I ended up liking it so in the end he did the place up for me, I guess because when you’re as rich as he is you can just…do that? And I’m kind of an unofficial security system I s’pose. Here we go.” The door beeped. Clint threw it open, went through to hold it and waved Phil past him. “Ta dah!”

Phil went through and then stopped, dropping his bag. The dark corridor opened up into a small but welcoming apartment, nicely lit by the few lamps Clint was hurrying about turning on. Surprised, Phil looked round, his dishevelled state and the shirt he was still clutching forgotten as he stared. The place was fairly tiny but what it lacked in square feet it made up for in charm. There were large windows and the space was open plan, the small kitchen looking right out over a counter to the couch in what had to be the living space, with bookshelves that ran much of the length of one wall until they met what must be the bedroom door. The walls were a soft, almost lilac, grey, the couch a darker grey with bright, plush-looking cushions and the shelves were crammed with knick-knacks, plants and books, art and framed pictures that made a tapestry of random colour. Friendly. Fresh and…cosy. That was the word, not in any way chintzy or crammed but still cosy, lived in. Phil knew he hardly knew the man but the place just seemed very…Clint.

He must have stood gawping for too long because Clint cleared his throat and scrubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I mean, I know it’s not much, really, but…”

“It’s great.” Phil interrupted, “Really great. I like it.”

He did. In fact, right now he absolutely wanted to go sit down on the couch, burrow into one of those huge, purple cushions and pull the similarly purple, ridiculously soft-looking throw that was draped there down over himself and just huddle up. 

It was post-orgasm daze, surely.

Clint brightened, “Yeah?” he smiled, “Cool. So, shower’s through that door there, the hot water’s linked to the rest of the building’s supply so don’t worry about using it up.” he started to move behind the counter, towards the kitchen, “You wanna drink? I know I could use like a tonne of Gatorade, but I can make you a coffee or something too…” 

Opening a cupboard, Clint brought out two mugs and a coffee tin and the picture was suddenly so achingly domestic that it sent Phil’s heart down into his shoes, stomach lurching wildly. Too fast might have been perfect before, downstairs, but this, this was so fast and he didn’t, he wasn’t…. Clint was amazing, seemed to be a great guy as well as seriously hot, he seemed close to ideal, but Phil couldn’t… he wasn’t ready to…icy fingers of fear trailed down Phil’s spine and he swallowed, hard. Fuck.

“Clint?” he croaked and Clint turned, 

“Yeah?”

Phil’s heart fell even further. Shit, shit, why hadn’t he done this before? He’d gotten so carried away in the moment, the amazing, wonderful, sexy-as-hell moment and now he was standing in Clint’s _home_ half- _naked_ and whatever he said to explain he was going to sound like an ass, a utter callous _ass_. But he’d decided, hadn’t he, he’d told May what he thought was best right now and it was a good plan, he believed it, he would stick to it. But still, an _ass_ ,

“Clint, I…before you start…I… just…”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he had to just get on with it, but he’d never felt so lost for words. He felt sick.

“I have to tell you, I mean, tonight, downstairs, that was amazing, you were amazing and I meant what I said, I’ve been thinking about you all weekend but….” 

Jesus, he was stammering, he should just do it, it would be fine, Clint would be fine, they were both grown men, weren’t they?

“…I think I should tell you, should have told you I mean, that I’m not looking for anything…serious. I just got out of something long-term and I’m not, I’m really not ready to go there again. So…I mean, this was great but if that’s what you’d be…” 

He trailed off in the face of Clint’s silence, his stare and crumpled his shirt miserably in his fists. “I’m sorry, I should have said…I sound like a shit. I am a shit. I should go. I’ll go.” There was a door in the kitchen behind Clint with glass panes, surely that had to lead outside. He picked up his bag again, pointed, “That way?”

He started to move but Clint, who had been standing and watching him babble, his face unreadable, put out a hand to stop him. “Wait. Fuck Phil, just…wait, alright?”

It was the very least he could do and it was also absolute agony. Phil stood, tense as he’d ever been, desperately trying not to shake apart with sudden shame and regret and watched as Clint grabbed a bottle of drink out of his fridge, chugged it, and then…made coffee. Actually prepared two cups of coffee, although thank fuck it was that instant latte sachet stuff Phil would usually have turned his nose up at, because even with that, Clint took his time. Filling the mugs with boiling water from a fancy counter-top tap, adding extra milk and stirring, god, the stirring, it went on for eons. And all the while Clint didn’t look at him once. He kept his eyes down, his face unreadable and Phil just…waited. He didn’t know, exactly, what he was waiting for, what he expected, or wanted, Clint to say. He’d made his own position pretty clear but he didn’t want to have hurt anyone, to have hurt Clint. Especially not Clint. What they’d just shared had been…Phil swallowed hard. Maybe he should…

The thought was shattered by the tinkling of a spoon hitting the counter. Clint was frozen again, staring at it where it fell and then he seemed to shiver, he glanced up at Phil and then he sighed, somehow straightened and stood taller. 

“Shit Phil, relax. I can hear you thinking from over here. Relax, alright?” 

Clint walked back into the living space, a mug in each hand, and Phil tracked his approach, still tense despite the admonishment, unsure if he was going to have hot coffee poured somewhere sensitive or, at the very least, get called several names and be tossed off a fire-escape. When Clint was within arms-length he stopped, and Phil braced himself. 

Clint thrust out his hand and Phil jumped, but Clint was just…passing him a mug. “It’s fine.” Clint said.

Automatically, Phil shoved his shirt into his bag-holding hand so that he could take the mug and then blinked blankly down at it. “It’s what?”

Clint, shockingly, smiled, a small, rueful smile, but definitely a smile, and slurped at his drink, “Fine. It’s fine. Not the coffee. What you said. It’s fine. With me, I mean.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” he huffed a short laugh, “I mean, we didn’t exactly give each other chance for talking and setting boundaries downstairs did we? And well, you’re telling me now, that’s fair, you didn’t mess with me, didn’t lie to me or anything. So, it’s fine.”

“Oh.” Phil felt relieved, but strangely hollow. He hefted his bag, awkwardly juggled the mug “Good. That’s good. I’m....glad. Thanks. I should still go.”

“Don’t.” Clint lifted the mug to his mouth again and this time Phil found himself watching Clint’s lips pout as he blew across the drink, “I mean, you _can_ , if you want, but you don’t _have_ to.” He took a swallow and lowered the mug, licking away bubbles. Phil watched that movement too, the play of Clint’s tongue, swiping across his lush, still swollen lip. Clint cleared his throat and Phil looked up at the faint flush spreading over his cheeks, “I know what break-ups are like, I mean mine wasn’t that recent but… I know, emotions are…yeah. Not serious sounds alright to me. I can do not serious. A break from hearts and flowers and all that stuff. And…” he flushed again, bit his lip this time and Phil’s gut churned, “I mean…just because we’re not going to be, I dunno, _boyfriends_ , doesn’t have to mean we can’t spend some…time together…again.”

“Really?” Phil could hardly believe what he was hearing. What Clint might be suggesting. There was no way he was that could be suggesting…Phil wasn’t that lucky. Was he?

“Sure.” Clin nodded. He turned to put his drink down on a side-table and when he turned back, his smile was growing again. It looked a lot more like the suggestive grins Clint had been sending him all during class and Phil’s knees went weak, “I mean, if you want to. You know. Do this again.”

_If_ he wanted to? If? Christ, it wasn’t every day Phil was offered everything he’d imagined on a platter. He was reeling. His hand drifted up, almost of its own accord, as if to, what? take Clint’s? but it was still full of mug so he settled for making an awkward gesture, half toast, half salute, “If you’d want that then I would…very much want that.”

“Good.” Clint stepped close, took the mug from his hand and put it down, prised his fingers away from his bag so that it dropped to the floor. “I mean,” he grinned, “if you’re absolutely _sure_ that we can manage to resist falling for each other.”

A weight lifted from Phil’s shoulders at the joke and sparks skittered down his back, chasing everything else away. God, it was good to have some honesty in a relationship, some clarity. He grinned back, “That is very much not in my plan.”

“No hearts and flowers? Keep it light?” Clint asked.

Phil nodded, “Fun, not flowers. If that sounds good.”

“Fun sounds awesome.” Clint’s eyes darkened and he moved even closer, taking Phil’s wrist and stroking with his thumb. Phil didn’t bother to try and hide his shiver. “I mean,” Clint continued, “you _are_ welcome to the shower, but when we were downstairs you offered some other pretty awesome sounding things and it would pretty much kill all this honesty we’ve got going if I lied and didn’t say that one of the reasons I brought you up here was because I thought round two might be much more fun in a bed…”

Phil’s entire body shuddered with the thought. “Well,” he drawled, his voice already feeling choked thick with rapidly rising desire, “I have spent the better part of this evening admiring your thighs and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’d very much enjoy taking a ride on them, one way or another. And I’d hate to do that.” Dragging Clint the last inches until they were pressed flush together, Phil stroked across his bare hip, grazing the skin, teasing until Clint gasped,

“One way or another, is ah! absolutely up for negotiation. And try-outs. Lots and lots of try-outs. Just to see what works” 

Phil raised his eyebrow, deadly with want, “Right now?”

Clint’s eyes glittered, “Oh, totally right now.”

They raced each other to the bedroom door.

>>==>>>

Hours later, round two and, eventually, three, firmly in the bag, Phil levered himself out of bed and looked back at Clint, smeared across the mattress. The sheets in here were purple too, dark and rich, and Clint’s golden skin was a streak of caramel across them where he lay facedown in the pillow. For a second Phil contemplated getting back in with him. But, it was late enough on a work night, or maybe early enough on a work morning, that he really had to get home, so instead he settled for leaning down and pressing a palm to Clint’s shoulder. Clint groaned and Phil chuckled.

“Hey, I have to get going. Okay if I shower?”

“’Course,” Clint’s voice came out muffled, “just don’t’ expect me to get up. I think you broke me.”

“I broke you?” Phil smoothed his hand across the expanse of Clint’s back, just because he could, “What about me? I do have to walk tomorrow you know.”

“Pffft.” Clint huffed, flapping a hand, “I was worth it.”

Phil agreed, laughing, “Totally. Now, shower?”

Clint pointed without lifting his head and Phil followed his finger to the hot water, contentment swelling in his chest.

>>===>>

In the end, Clint did get up. In fact he not only got up, he also saw Phil to the door and presented him with a travel mug full of mocha for the way home. When Phil looked at the mug Clint ducked his head briefly, the gorgeous pink flush that made Phil half-decide to tumble him straight back into bed, blooming across his cheeks again,

“It’s not like I won’t get it back, right?” he looked up again, one corner of his mouth twisted in a smug smirk, “I mean, I have a class on Friday, and if you still want those lessons…”

Phil leaned in and took the mug, fixing his eyes on the smirk, staring, until it opened out into a grin that he answered with one of his own, “I wouldn’t miss it. And this…this…is good?” 

“This is great.” Clint gently pushed him towards the external stairs that would take him back to the real world, “Now go on.”

The drink warmed Phil through the cab ride home but he collapsed into bed when he got there despite the caffeine, happily fucked-out, exhausted and smiling and dead to the world.

>>===>>

He slept like a log for nowhere near enough hours and groaned when his alarm went off. His muscles ached in places he’d almost forgotten he could ache in and sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed made him hiss. But it was a good ache, clean and true, reminding Phil through the process of getting dressed, breakfast and the walk to work of exactly how he’d earned it. In fact, it was incredibly difficult to not remember. Constantly.

His first meeting of the day was particularly trying, a presentation by two of the tech department’s brightest of some new gadget that they were obviously endearingly excited about but that to Phil seemed convoluted and never-ending. Distracted, he shifted in his chair, testing for the aftershocks of Clint’s touch, lost in the memory of how Clint had looked spread out underneath him, of the feel of it when Clint had lifted his hips and pushed…a sharp rap sounded nearby and pulled Phil out of his reverie. He glanced around and when he saw May tapping her pen firmly on her notepad and pointedly not looking at him, Phil did not let himself colour. Instead he ostentatiously straightened and focussed his attention back where it belonged. Though it wasn’t even half as interesting.

The second that the meeting-room emptied, May rounded on him.

“So, Mr Utterly Distracted, I take it you went to class last night?”

“I did.” Phil said carefully, aiming for nonchalance

“And how did it _glow_?”

Phil tutted, “Is that a Clubbercise pun?

“Just a little one.”

He rolled his eyes, “Not your best.”

“Alright,” she rolled her eyes right back, “have no sense of humour if you want. But you can’t deflect me that easily. So, how was he? Sorry…I mean _it_?”

Phil tried to splutter in indignation at the ‘slip’ but lost the façade almost immediately, smiling smugly at her, “Absolutely spectacular.”

May laughed, “Yes, you certainly look…well exercised. And you’re okay?” the laugh faltered, “It was…fun?”

She was frowning, worried and Phil smiled again to show how much he appreciated her concern, even if he didn’t need it. “It was fun, yes.” he assured her, “ _Very_ fun. And I’m great.”

And, he considered once May had taken her leave and he was back at his desk, he really was. Yes, he had to pull himself out of sexy flashbacks more than once, alright, a few times _more_ than more than once, during the rest of the day, but that was hardly a negative and should be expected, surely? And he did feel great, physically and mentally. Great. Validated even, because cool and casual, _fun_ , had turned out so much better than he’d expected. He was obviously a genius. And knowing that Clint, beautiful, charming, gorgeously flexible Clint, wanted that too? That he would be there on Friday, waiting? that there could be more of what they’d had without any emotional pressure, any expectations or anyone’s feelings getting misplaced, abused or hurt? The very thought made Phil close his eyes for a second, to hold back the rush of delightful plans and images that wanted to overwhelm him. He groaned quietly. 

The rest of the week could simply not go fast enough.

>>===>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr (@taketheshot21) and you're wonderful for reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has taken longer than I would have liked (damn real-life and it's responsibilities!) but here we are finally, chapter five. The morning after...
> 
> I hope you enjoy and, if you do, please consider taking a moment to feed your author and letting me know. Comments really are fuel and the next chapter is gonna be a doozy to get ready. It's long, and there is much smuttage :)
> 
> This chapter dedicated to @fishcustardandclintbarton from Tumblr (fannyvonfabulus here) on the occasion of their big birthday, with many thanks for supporting this fic! Have a wonderful birthday x

>>===>>

When Wednesday morning arrived Clint woke later than usual, feeling pleasantly stretched, like after a great workout, and _awesome_. He scrubbed off quickly in the shower, humming under the spray. He had tugs and aches in his muscles but a spring in his step that even he knew he hadn’t had for a while and it wasn’t hard to work out what had put it there.

Maybe it was weird, how good he felt.

It didn’t feel weird though.

When Phil had first said what he’d said his heart, he had to admit, had sunk. He couldn’t lie, he, em>liked Phil and it had been a bit of a blow, like being broken up with in advance. But then Phil had explained and Clint had thought a bit - and yeah, that was weird, that he’d reasoned this out with the guy in question half naked in his living room - but in the end - why not? Phil had been decent enough to stumble (adorably) through being honest about his feelings and boundaries and Clint had to respect that. It was kinda…nice. The clarity of it. Different, sure, but nice. 

Clint combed through his feelings as he combed through his hair and dressed and found…well, nothing. Nothing to worry about anyway. He didn’t feel like he was being messed with, that Phil had fucked with him in any way (except the best way) or like he was planning to. There was no regret or worry that Phil saw him as someone to mess about or anything ‘lesser’. Phil just wasn’t looking for serious and he’d been brave enough and careful enough, kind enough even, to say it. Clint could _totally_ respect that. And, he realised, the decision he’d come to last night, while made the slowest coffee of his life and Phil had squirmed, still felt right this morning. He could be on board with no strings fun. 

Especially of the insanely hot and satisfyingly exhausting kind that he’d had last night…

But more than that, he reasoned while packing up his kit for the day, no strings, openly no strings, could be good for him. Maybe it be the bridge he needed to being, if he used Nat’s word, ‘sensible’. To not throwing himself in at the deep end of relationships and drowning, but to learning how to float. Jesus, that would be sweet. 

And if everyone knew exactly where they stood from the very beginning and if feelings weren’t even an option, then they couldn’t be hurt, could they? Sounded pretty much perfect. 

A soft chime from his StarkWatch startled him out of his thoughts. Oh crap, what time was it? Enough thinking or he would be late.

Clint was still humming as he practically ran downstairs to work, heading into the winding corridors and glass walls of Starks, … _every time we touch, I get this feeling_ … he laughed when he recognised the song his subconscious had picked. Phil’s touch, touching Phil…Hell yeah, the right call last night still felt like the right call. Everything else aside he wasn’t stupid enough to say no to more of…ok no. Better pull his brain out of the gutter _again_ and onto work before he gave himself a problem and had to go back upstairs to take care of it. Passing a mirror he caught sight of the smug look on his face and laughed again. No wonder he felt awesome, this whole thing was a great idea.

>>===>>

The café was busy as usual but his breakfast order was already out on the side in his personal purple bottle (go employee perks) and he craned his neck looking for an empty seat to perch and prep his morning’s training sessions.

“Clint! Over here!”

At the familiar shout Clint turned and spotted Darcy waving from the table where she was sitting with Nat. He waved back and made his way over to them, dodging round the growing queue of people at the juice bar counter.

“Hey guys. You taking a break Darce?” he asked, looking over at where the customers were starting to grumble,

“Pfft, they can wait five,” she dismissed his concern, “After all, how will they appreciate me if they don’t get to miss me once in a while? They’ll be fine. But enough about me,” she drawled, looking him up and down appraisingly, “Spill. How did your last class go yesterday? As if I need to ask…I mean, look at him, right Nat?”

Nat smirked, sipping her bubble tea, “Positively glowing.”

Clint groaned, “Aw, ladies, come on. Didn’t you get enough of the glowstick jokes when I took the class on?”

“Never.” Nat deadpanned, “There can never be enough glowstick jokes.”

“I don’t make them about you!”

“That’s because I am impervious to puns and you know it. Stop trying to change the subject.” She raised an eyebrow at him, “How was your class? Did Phil actually turn up?”

“He did.”

“And?”

Clint look a long pull from his bottle, savouring the tart fruity taste and contriving to look casually innocent. “And what?” he shrugged.

Nat’s eyebrow rose marginally higher but Clint held his blank expression. This time, this time he would not be the one to break…

“Oh for god’s sake!” Darcy squeaked, breaking the deadlock herself, “Can you two stop teasing me! Nat, you already know that Clint took Phil to the upstairs studio for an ‘after hours dance lesson’ and Clint you know that Nat knows because Nat always knows everything that happens round here and the pair of you are killing me! I need details Clint, give me details!”

“Darcy,” Nat reprimanded her, though the way she was smirking totally killed the effect, “Clint doesn’t have to tell us anything.”

Darcy snorted indignantly, “Yes he does! You might be all happily coupled up with Doctor Banner from Physio and all his glorious curls but some of us are still single and living our romantic lives vicariously! So,” she rounded on Clint, “if you ever want breakfast juice again, spill the tea. Did he…” she waggled her own eyebrows suggestively, “ _glow all night?_ ”

“Jesus Darce!” Clint startled, swallowing his juice down the wrong way and coughed, half choking, half laughing. When he finally got control of himself again, both women were staring at him, stern faced and expectant. “Oh, _alright_. I’m not going to give you graphics, you, you gossip hound, but…” he sat back in his chair and finally let go the smug smile he’d been holding in, “…I will say that the dance lesson went very well.”

“Yes!” Darcy, “Whoohoo, go Clint! High five!” She raised a hand, totally unconscious of the attention she was attracting and held it there until Clint gave in and tapped it. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning at the enthusiasm. Nat was much more restrained, just giving him a smile and a nod over her cup,

“I’m pleased for you, Little Bird, that’s good.”

Clint’s grin widened, because to be honest, he was still buzzing and he really did want to share some of it, “It was you know, it was _very_ good. Damn, you should have seen, he bought this workout kit, and he was so hot in it and then so cute doing the class I almost fell off the stage…”

“I saw,” Nat said, smiling at Clint’s smile

“I didn’t!” Darcy squeaked again, “That must be rectified instantly. Bring him to me, I demand it. When can we meet your new man?” 

She was almost clapping her hands in her ‘vicarious’ excitement but the question dropped like a stone into Clint’s little pool of contentment. The ripples it caused didn’t exactly _upset_ him, but still, they were…unsettling. “That’s not…I mean he’s not….my man. We’re not…” they were staring at him again so he took a breath, like a grown up, “He told me he’s not looking for a relationship right now.”

Darcy sucked air in through her teeth, sympathetically, “Aw, man, That sucks.”

Nat reached forward and squeezed his hand, “What a bastard. I’m sorry Clint.” 

“What? No!” Clint shook his head, because that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair, “Not like _that_ , I mean, he wasn’t trying to play me or anything, he was just being, you know, honest.” Happily, he added, “And I thought about it a bit, decided, that’s alright with me. So we’re going to, um, see each other again.”

“Really?” Darcy leaned forward, elbows on the table, “Like a friends-with-benefits thing?”

Clint nodded happily, “Yeah. I mean, we’re not _exactly_ friends yet, kinda got to the benefits first so to speak, but I know we’re gonna be, so it’s pretty much the same thing, right?”

“Sure, sounds like it.” Darcy agreed, “And it can be great, that. Once I…”

“Darcy?” Nat cut her off, her voice low, and dark, almost a growl and Clint winced, “You have a queue.”

“Oookaaayyy,” Darcy looked at Nat, then back at her counter, “so I do. And I think I’ve deprived the good customers of _Stark’s_ for long enough. No rest for the wicked.” She stood, “See you later then Nat? Ah…good luck Clint.”

She patted him on the shoulder as she passed. Clint watched her go, helplessly, then turned to his best friend, who was still glaring at him, “Nat, look…”

“First,” Nat interrupted, leaning in and holding the eye-contact, tone suddenly oddly soft “tell me that you didn’t agree to this because you think you can’t do better. That you’re not letting this Phil get what he wants and call all the shots because it’s all you think you deserve.”

“What? No!” Clint shook his head, surprised, “Jeez Nat, come on. Look, I know I haven’t always been my own best friend but my self-esteem isn’t _that_ bad.”

Nat continued as if he hadn’t even spoken, “Because it isn’t Clint. You’re strong, you’re funny, smart, skilled and good at your job. Even handsome for those like that sort of thing. So, it isn’t.”

“Nat,” Clint shifted in his chair, awkwardly touched by the sudden list which was not at all what he’d been expecting but that warmed him as much as it made him squirm, “Thanks…I know. Honest.”

“Good.” She nodded firmly then leaned back, sucked aggressively at her tea and all at once there was the growl and glare, back front and centre and pointed at him. “So. Tell me then. What the fuck exactly are you thinking?”

Ah. 

This was much more like it. Protective Big Sister Nat was obviously on the loose…Clint grimaced, “Nat, it’s not a big deal.”

“Really.”

“Come on, I’ve had one night stands before and you’ve never jumped down my throat about them. Why is this any different?”

“Because,” she said, “one night is one night, fine. But now you’re going back for more than one. And I know you, you have a romantic heart Clint Barton, even if romance and you haven’t exactly had the best track record recently. You’ve spent enough nights on my couch eating ice-cream and bitching about men, you know relationships are hard enough. So why set yourself up to get hurt?” 

“I’m not! And have you thought that maybe romance isn’t what I want right now?”  
She huffed, damningly sceptical, “Nat,” he tried, “could you just stop pointing that tea it me like it’s a weapon?” She didn’t flinch and he frowned, “Look, it’s simple. Phil was honest with me about where he is and what he’s looking for. And decided that I’m okay with that. So, we’re good to just…have fun. No feelings involved. Just, if last night was anything to go by, great sex. Maybe some good company. Fun.”

“Fun.” Her tone made it sound like a root canal. Clint wanted to roll his eyes and tell her she wasn’t his mother but stopped himself. Nat’s concern was too hard come by and he valued it too much to brush off, so instead he pulled a little face at her, stuck out his tongue, wrinkled his nose,

“I gotta say Nat, I woke up feeling awesome this morning and you are totally ruining my buzz right now. Yes, _fun_. Maybe you’ve heard of it. I am pretty sure it’s still allowed.” 

“I don’t want to ruin anything for you,” Nat gritted, looking caught halfway between being concerned for him and wanting to wring his neck, “I just want you to be careful. You are ‘allowed fun’. But Clint, I know you liked him. How fun will it be when it’s going nowhere?”

“Maybe it’s fun because I know it’s not going anywhere? Doesn’t need to go anywhere?” Clint was starting to get exasperated, tried his best to explain. He didn’t need Nat’s permission but she was his best friend and her support would be nice, “I did like Phil. Do like him. But, there’s no pressure, on either of us, and you know what? Turns out I like that too. No games, no wondering ‘what does this mean?’ and all that other crap that _makes_ relationships hard. Having to be on your best behaviour, using the proper mugs, watching the ‘smart’ shows, buying salad. You know, proving that you’re ‘boyfriend material’. It’s fucking exhausting and I just…don’t need to do any of that with Phil. Me and him, we both know where we stand, alright? No misunderstandings, nobody getting in too deep. Maybe it did freak me out at first but I’ve thought about it and like the idea, honestly. Besides, if it doesn’t work, we’ll just stop. I’m not going to get hurt,” he repeated, firmly. “I know what I’m doing. Besides, Phil wouldn’t hurt me. He isn’t that kind of a guy.”

To his annoyance, Nat scoffed, “And you know that how? You’ve known him all of five minutes.”

“Because we talked!” Clint snapped, his temper finally starting to rise. The entire conversation was tarnishing his brilliant night and, as much as he knew where Nat’s worry came from, it was getting annoying. She couldn’t have the wrong impression about this, about him and especially about Phil, that just wasn’t right. “We weren’t just at each other all night, we had a coffee, we talked, and I could just tell.”

Nat sat straighter, “And just where exactly,” she asked, eyes flashing dangerously, “did you get coffee at that time of night? Not here, because I sat with Darcy while she closed, and I doubt you went out after all that ‘dancing’.”

Clint was nearing his limit, he got her point but she was totally missing his, “Oh, for fuck’s sake Nat. Fine. I took him up to mine, alright? We went up to mine.”

She puffed out a furious breath, “Clint! You let him into your place? On the first not even a date? I know he came with May but he’s still practically a stranger! I thought you had sense…”

He’d had enough. 

“Nat!” Clint reached out and grabbed her shoulder, derailing her, “Stop it. Please. I know you’re looking out for me but I’m not a kid. I can look after myself and I know what I’m doing and it’s going to be fine. You have to trust me on this.” Nat opened her mouth and Clint shook his head, “Trust me.” She snapped her mouth closed again and Clint sat back, “Alright? I know what I’m getting into. No hearts involved means no broken hearts, and god, that thought is so fucking relaxing. Maybe not forever but right now this is what I want. Phil’s what I want. So please? Just let me enjoy it.”

“No hearts at all? And you’re good with that? Happy to keep it that way? Able to?”

“Yes!”

There was a long pause as Nat stared him down and Clint waited, trying to radiate the confidence he’d felt on his way down to the café, the certainty that he was on to a good thing. An awesome thing. God, he was sure he knew what he was doing but her opinion did matter so much… Finally, to his relief, the tension in her softened, just a little, “Alright. I suppose I have to trust your judgement. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Happier, Clint leaned in and kissed her quickly on the cheek. She glowered at the PDA, but he knew she loved it really, deep down, almost as much as he loved her. “And If I’m wrong I’ll rub your feet and let you tell me so, in exacting detail. With Russian insults if you like.”

She cracked an almost imperceptible smile, “And this time you’ll buy the ice-cream.”

“I’ll buy the ice-cream.”

“And if you _are_ wrong, if he hurts you…”

“I know, I know, nobody will ever find his body.” He smiled, “I’m not wrong though. Phil’s one of the good guys, he won’t take more than he’s given.”

“But will he give you what you want?”

Now it was Clint’s turn raise a brow, “Pretty sure he already did…”

“Did I just hear innuendo?” Clint jumped and turned as Darcy came back to the table, grinning, brandishing a plate of muffins, “Excellent. I was just coming over with ‘don’t-argue-on-an-empty-stomach’ muffins, which are very happy to become ‘down-and-dirty-details’ muffins instead. So, speaking of coming…?” She jiggled the plate invitingly and made kissy faces with her bright red lips so that Clint couldn’t help but laugh.

Nat rolled her eyes and shook her head, “You two are terrible. Fine. You have five minutes before my first class to share the very barest of details, if you absolutely must.”

Darcy sat down and tossed a muffin to Clint who caught it with a grin, “Oh, he absolutely must.”

To be perfectly honest, Clint could have filled the five minutes ten times over with the amount of things he wanted to remember about his and Phil’s night. But, the clock ran fast and, despite Darcy’s protests he decided to keep it brief to spare the majority of Nat’s blushes. By the time they had to leave, Nat to run to class and beat up some willing devotees and Darcy to appease yet another queue, he still had plenty he could reminisce about. It was a shame that he couldn’t _actually_ let himself indulge in the memories like he wanted for fear of creating a ‘situation’ that would make all the leaping about in his own next class more than awkward but, on the good side he was well on his way back to feeling awesome again. And as he idly scraped up the last of the muffin crumbs up with his thumb he full-body shivered, imagining what he might be able to indulge in thinking about once Friday rolled around and he saw Phil again. Sticking the thumb in his mouth he sucked away the crumbs and swallowed a groan.

As far as he was concerned, Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

>>===>>

“Alright guys! Nicely done, you all worked really hard on that one, give yourselves a whoop whoop!” Clint joined in as his Friday night class, Phil included, cheered, admittedly little raggedly after how hard he’d just worked them, and gave them a thumbs up, “Okay, let’s get stretched out.” 

The first notes of the cool-down track started to play and a sudden bolt of desire struck Clint deep in his gut, curling hot round his spine and flipping his stomach over. His side-step faltered and he had to clench down against it to get himself back on track, mentally giving himself a hard shake. Yes, the cool-down track meant that class was almost over and that meant that hopefully soon he would be…but nope, he wasn’t thinking about that or else he’d be giving himself a complex and it would be legitimately mortifying if his dick started reacting like one of those dogs with the bells every time he heard the beginning of ‘Mr Loverman’. 

(which hadn’t been his choice, alright? It had just appeared on his programmed track listing in the _Stark’s_ system Wednesday afternoon and no matter what he did it refused to be deleted. Luckily his classes seemed to think it was cute but the second he could prove Darcy’s guilt her juice machine was gonna have something drastic done to its nozzles)

Mortifying. Not to mention awkward as hell in the other classes during the week that didn’t have Phil in them. He needed to focus. However, it just wasn’t that easy with Phil only over there, following along and looking like an absolute snack - all dark shirt and strong forearms raised high over his head…which triggered the memory of those arms round his own back, Phil’s hands…whoops, okay that was not helping with the dick reacting thing either. What was he meant to be doing? Calf stretch. Yes, calf stretch.

Clint deliberately didn’t look right at Phil again while he ran the class through their finishing stretches and the customary glowstick-waving send off, but it was impossible not to notice him. Having him there was like having some sort of magnet in the room and Clint constantly felt the pull as he moved around the space clearing up and switching things off, dragging him closer and closer in an ever-decreasing orbit. Finally, all jobs done and heart pounding as if the cool-down had never actually happened, nervous as if this hadn’t been the arrangement all along, he sauntered over to where Phil was still lingering over his gym bag, “So, Phil,” he managed, as casually as he could, “good class today. You’re definitely getting the hang of most of the steps.”

Phil stuffed his towel into his bag and smiled, “You think?”

“Definitely. So…” he just about stopped himself from scuffing his feet, “…we still on for your dance lesson?”

Phil’s eyes darkened and his smile took on a wicked edge, “If you still think I need it?” he asked, and with that sentence, both question and invitation, Clint felt the very last drops of tension and doubt drain through his whole body and slip away, dropping him completely into a hot, loose boil of hungry want. He shifted his weight onto one hip, folded his arms and gave Phil his very best once-over, eyes lingering across his shoulders, on his curved lips, 

“Oh yeah,” he nodded slowly and his own lips bent into a smirk, “I’m sure there are still some moves we can work on.”

Phil swallowed hard and the flush of pink that spread across his cheekbones was so damn gratifying that Clint very nearly tackled him to the floor right there. But he could do discretion, he really could, so when Phil smiled again and said, “Ready when you are then.” he just grinned back and led the way up to studio, holding back the desperate desire to just grab Phil’s hand and run with every single shred of dignity he could muster.

The second they locked the studio door behind them they crashed into each other like an avalanche. Hands, mouths, tongues and fingers, grabbing, pulling and gasping they staggered across the floor in a glorious, mad mess of desire, moving so fast that Clint completely lost track of who was doing what to who. And, he found, he really, really didn’t care. It was all so fucking brilliant, water in a desert, food after hunger, fucking oxygen in a closed room and he sucked it down, sucked Phil down and took as much as he was given until he was absolutely reeling. Eventually one or the other of them steered them smack into a wall and the abrupt bump brought them both up short, gasping and groaning into each other’s mouths, fists twisted in shirts, legs tangled, palms hot on hidden skin.

“Oh my goddddd,” Clint finally managed to force out through the continued assault of Phil’s kiss, “it has been a loooong time since Tuesday.”

Phil chuckled and licked at the corner of his mouth, “It’s good to see you too.”

“I was…” Clint leaned in to suck at Phil’s earlobe and ran his hand up inside his shirt to see how far as he could reach (answer: absolutely not far enough) “…was kinda hoping to see more of you.” He tugged at the shirt, pulling it up, not so much hinting as demanding and Phil shuddered.

“Oh absolutely,” Phil agreed breathlessly, then turned his head to look into the room, eyeing the crashmat they’d taken advantage of the first time, “here?”

The willing heat in his voice despite the way he was frowning at the mat filled Clint with a glow that broke him out of his Phil-induced sex-trance, just a little. He pulled back (though he only moved his hand far enough to take hold of Phil’s because no way could he manage no contact at all, god, that would be insane), and shook his head, “Nah, as much fun as that was last time I think we’d be better off upstairs, don’t you?”

Phil shrugged, looking pleased, “It’s your bed,” he conceded, grinning.

Clint grinned back and tugged him towards the door that led to his staircase “It is.” As he keyed in the unlock code Clint took the opportunity to push Phil against the door, press close and roll their bodies together until they both groaned, “And I need to have you in it in like, the next thirty seconds, alright?”

Phil canted his hips up to press back, “As you wish.”

Clint groaned again, blood sparking, and practically lifted Phil off his feet to move him so he could wrench the door open and drag them both through, “You don’t have to seduce me with _Princess Bride_ quotes, I’m already such a sure thing. Come _on_.”

Phil laughed and came on. And on and on and on. Through the door, up the stairs and through Clint’s apartment, neither of them ever quite letting go of the other, they stumbled, fumbled and shed clothes, kissed and staggered until they were tumbling into Clint’s bed, pressed so close and tangled that Clint lost track again of whose skin was whose, of any sense of place or of time or really of anything that wasn’t the incredible man in his bed and the even more incredible heat between them. It was the very best kind of confusion.

>>===>>

“Hooooly shit.” Clint shuddered later, thighs shaking where he was spread wide straddled over Phil’s hips and his whole body clenched weakly, seized by yet another shock of his apparently relentless orgasm. When it passed again he sagged forward, bending his elbows until he was pressed closer toward Phil’s chest, spent cock sliding wetly over Phil’s stomach, “I mean, holy shiiiiit.”

Phil’s hands spasmed on Clint’s waist and he rocked his own hips up helplessly, pushing even deeper into where he was still buried in Clint’s body. Clint arched back into it, crying out quietly again, a sob against Phil’s shoulder, and Phil moaned, “You do not,” he panted, his hands squeezing once more then falling with a thump to the mattress, “do not have to tell me. Holy shit. Yes.”

They stayed like that for long moments, chests heaving, both blissed out, Phil laid out under Clint, Clint’s hands braced hard against the pillow either side of Phil’s head, Phil’s gentling down Clint’ sides, slowly shaking back down from their respective highs. Long enough moments in fact that Clint was just starting to wonder when it was going to get awkward, when Phil’s stomach growled. Not a polite little grumble either, but a full-on bubbling snarl-and-rumble that echoed ridiculously even over their loud breathing. Clint levered himself up to look at Phil’s wide eyes and laughed,

“Jeez Phil, did you not eat this week or something?”

That adorable blush pinked Phil’s cheekbones again making Clint want to run his thumbs along them, feel the warmth, “Not before class” Phil huffed a rueful laugh, “I…wasn’t exactly thinking about food, you know?”

Now the warmth was in Clint, because he did know – he knew _exactly_ \- and wow, was it nice to know he hadn’t been alone, “Oh sure, make it my fault,” he teased, smiling, then eased himself up carefully. When Phil slipped free Clint stood, stretched, and headed the few steps to the bathroom, “Come on then, let’s get cleaned up and I’ll feed you.” He wet a facecloth and he threw it over his shoulder to Phil who caught it and started to scrub at his chest,

“You don’t have to. Feed me.”

He sounded kinda weird and Clint popped his head back round the door to check on him. Yeah, under the sweaty and satisfied there was an edge of awkward and Clint internally rolled his eyes. He’d seen that look before on Phil before and he’d bet dollars to doughnuts that he was probably worrying about leading Clint on again. Well, that was just stupid because they’d sorted all that out, hadn’t they? “It’s no big deal,” he said, reassuring, “I mean, I’m going to have to eat anyway and it won’t be anything fancy. But it’s up to you.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“Phil, honestly, it’s not a problem, you’re welcome to stay. Besides, replacing calories after exertion is important and you just had one hell of a workout. And you did an exercise class too.” 

Clint waggled his eyebrows and smirked and Phil visibly relaxed as the joke hit home, chuckling again, “Alright then. Food would be good.”

“Awesome.” Clint wrapped himself up in his robe, feeling the contented warmth settle happily in his chest, “Come through when you’re ready, I’ll fix us something up.”

When Phil appeared in the kitchen ten minutes later in sweats and a hoodie that must have been in his kit bag and retrieved from wherever it had been flung when they’d barrelled into the place earlier, Clint was digging through his freezer to come up with a box. He waved it at Phil, “Pizza? It’s only microwave, but I’m starving. And I do push a mean button.”

“Honestly? Anything sounds perfect. I’m hungry enough I’d even eat the box.”

“Yeah, we can do better than that.” Clint grinned and started ripping the pizzas open, shuffling them out of packets and onto the weird little silver cardboard trays. It was honestly a relief, he thought, watching the pizzas spin, after sex like that to not have to think about making something more complicated. If he’d been trying to impress Phil he’d probably have been dragging out pans and eggs and spices and all that stuff but that wasn’t necessary now was it? God, this was so simple and easy. Awesome. Belatedly, he realised Phil was still looking at him, so he nodded over at the TV, “Want to find us something to watch?”

“Sure.” Phil picked up the remote and flicked through channels, wrinkling his nose after a few and huffing, “God, there’s a lot of nonsense on this time of night, do you have Netflix?”

“Um,” Clint started, because yeah, he did but his ‘continue watching’ was probably full of the cartoons he favoured as relaxation after late training and okay, he might not be out to _impress_ impress, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely the image he wanted Phil to have of him. Phil however, moved fast and Clint’s homepage loaded before he could make any excuse to hide his trash TV habits,

But, “Oh, hey!” Phil exclaimed, turning, “There’s _Dog Cops_ , I love that show. Do you mind?”

Okay then. Apparently ‘easy’ was going to be the continuing theme of the evening and Clint couldn’t help grinning again, “ _Dog Cops_ is my favourite.”

“Great. I’ll just pick a good one?”

“Works for me.”

The microwave pinged and Clint brought the pizza over to the couch. They relaxed back while they ate, feet up on the coffee table, just filling their empty stomachs, making idle comments about the on-screen action, laughing and it was just…easy. No worrying about what Phil thought of him, about what any of this meant, about how Phil felt, how he felt, instead, Clint was just…enjoying himself. He took a big bite of his pizza and gave himself a mental high five.

Eventually, at the end of the episode, Phil put down his plate and sighed, “Thank you. For something ‘not fancy’ that very much hit the spot.”

Clint put back his head and closed his eyes, hummed happily, “hmmm, yep. Pizza is absolutely the best after-orgasm food. It has carbs, it has protein, you don’t need cutlery or concentration, it’s perfect.”

“Very practical.” Phil teased and Clint cracked one eye to give him a mock-glare,

“Come on, pizza can’t be beaten and we both know it. Unless…” he paused, considering, “I mean, if you’ve got a sweet tooth there’s Fill-Yer-Cake-Hole bakery like three blocks away that can do the whole carb/protein thing too. Though that’s more like instead-of-orgasm food. Their cheesecake is better than blowjobs.”

“Really.” Clint turned at the archness in Phil’s tone, saw the way his speculative smile was back, all smooth and dark with both challenge and promise, and his gut twisted hot.

“Oh no,” he pushed Phil’s shoulder gently, and flopped back into the couch, laughing even though his dick definitely twitched and even he could hear the broken shudder coming through under his laugh, “not tonight. I’m way too tired to take that on tonight.”

Phil smirked, “Next time then.” and Clint’s chest swelled again with that promise. For a couple of seconds they sat, grinning at each other and then Phil yawned, groaned and stood, “It’s time I got going anyway. Work tomorrow. No don’t,” he stopped Clint as he went to stand too, “you look too comfortable. I can see myself out.” He moved off, presumably to pick up his bag and Clint listened to him potter about, smiling at the memory. Eventually, Phil’s footsteps came back behind the couch and Clint opened his eyes again to look at him upside down. Even this way up he was totally cute. “Thanks for feeding me.” Clint rolled his eyes, because hadn’t they dealt with that? and Phil huffed a smile, shook his head, “I know, I know. It was nice though, so thank you.” He leaned down, his hand looking like it was heading to cup Clint’s cheek but at the last minute dropping to his shoulder instead and giving it a quick squeeze. “Anyway, goodnight.” A few quick steps and Phil was at the back door, where he paused again, “I’ll see you Tuesday?”

Clint nodded as best he could, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The room, when the door closed and the ringing of Phil’s step down the metal stairs had faded, was extremely quiet. Almost too quiet and Clint pulled his robe tighter as he sat on the suddenly huge-seeming couch, not moving, with the ghost of an almost-touch seeming cool on his cheek and half waiting for…what? Clint shivered, then snorted it away. He’d had a great, fun evening, was totally full and absolutely well-fucked in every sense of the word - the only thing he needed now was his bed. Still shaking his head own imagination, rubbed his face and dragged himself up to go lock the door. 

The bed did feel enormous and chilly when he flopped gracelessly down into it but the last traces of the heat they’d made were still there when he burrowed down under the duvet and it made him smile. Burritoed up tight, Clint grabbed a pillow and curled round it, burying his face, breathing deep. In the back of his mind the promise of ‘next time’ glowed like a nightlight and he clutched at that too, still smiling as he fell asleep.

>>===>>


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while, my apologies, you know how it is atm...enough said I think.
> 
> This is a beast of a chapter but I hope you enjoy it! Think of it as the montage sequence in the middle of the film, a whole lot of scenes building on the beginning and leading us towards...well, that would be telling :) 
> 
> A tiny warning that one of the scenes I wrote months ago involves Clint getting sick. It's nothing more than a cold really, he's absolutely fine, and it's more of an excuse to fluster Phil than anything but I thought I'd let you know, circumstances being what they are.
> 
> I've tried a bit of a thing here with regards to style, nothing too drastic but I'd love to know if it lands, if you can tell what I was trying to do! As always, your comments are always so very much appreciated, now even more than ever.
> 
> Enjoy x

>>===>>  


“Hello you. Great class tonight I thought, yeah? And really full, it’s good. To see, I mean. And you of course.”

“It’s good to see me? Or….it’s good to see me full?”

“Oh jesuschristwe’restillinthegymareyoutryingtokillme? I _meant_ it’s good to see you.”

“Well thank you. And same applies. Want to see more of me?”

“Oh yes, you know I do. Upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

“I’ll race you.”

>>===>>

“Phil!”

“Hm?” Phil’s head jerked up at May’s exasperated tone and he looked away from his phone screen to find her glaring at him over the low barrier that split their two desks. He winced. “Sorry May, did you call me?”

“Only three times. Can you pass me the Pearson file?”

“Sorry.” Phil grabbed the folder from the edge of his own desk and passed it across to hers without really looking, his eyes already drifting back to his phone. “Got a bit distracted for a minute.” He frowned.

“You don’t say.” May said, wryly, “I’m guessing it’s not by something fun if you’re giving the phone that look?”

“No, it’s…” Phil huffed in frustration, “I’m just looking for that link Fitz sent, the one about the comedy exhibition? I’ve scrolled back god knows how far in the group thread but I can’t find it.”

May shot him a look. “That’s all? I’ve got it. Unlike some people I actually set my phone up to save things of interest. I’ll send it to you.”

“Please.” He nodded, then breathed a little puff of relief as his phone beeped and her message arrived. The link was there, safe and sound and this time he saved it to his favourites before the thing could get lost the ether again. Happy, Phil put the phone down on his desk and would have turned back to his laptop, except that he could still feel May’s eyes on him. He looked up again and, sure enough, she was watching him steadily. “What.”

She shrugged, with a nonchalance Phil could spot as fake a mile away, “Oh, nothing. I just didn’t know you were enough into improv that the prospect of it would make you smile like that. If you’re planning a big night out I’d better be invited, that’s all I’m saying. Even better, we could make it my bachelorette…”

The tone was light but Phil knew digging when he heard it and he huffed, “You’ve had four bacherlorettes already, haven’t you terrorised the local flora and fauna enough? Besides which,” he said, hoping to put her off yet another ‘memorable’ evening, “I wasn’t thinking of going. I just wanted to show the link to Clint, that’s all.”

May’s eyes widened just a touch, which was, for her, practically theatrics, “Ohhh, _Clint._ ”

“May.” 

“What?”

“You know. Don’t make this into something that it’s not.”

“Sure, because it’s me doing that.”

“ _May_.” Phil did not want to have this conversation again, he really didn’t. May was a wonderful friend but her upcoming matrimonials must have filled her usually practical head with pink fluff, because how else could he explain not just the increased interest in his private life that she hadn’t even _tried_ to hide in the past couple of weeks, but also the constant allusions to some grand romance between him and Clint even when he’d explained, several times, that that just wasn’t what was happening?

She was doing it again, giving him that side-glance, that ‘I-know-better-than-you-do’ stare, but he was wise to that look of hers too and just returned it, blankly, until she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” They went back to work for a good few minutes and the tapping of keys lulled Phil into relaxing. He was just checking through one of the floor maps for his latest op when May added, casually, “Just saying though, maybe you should send Clint the link now, rather than risk losing it again.”

Still half-focussed on work, Phil replied without really thinking, “I can’t.”

May scoffed, “Really Phil, it’s not that had to just forward something, I can show you…”

“I know how to forward things May,” Phil said absently while tracing the line of a block of cabling, “I just can’t forward them to Clint. I don’t have his number.”

“Excuse me.”

The flat, lack of teasing in May’s tone made him look up. This time she was giving him the ‘did-you-really-just-say-that’ stare. That one made him itch.

“I can’t forward the link to Clint, because I don’t have his number.”

“Phil,” and now there was a new, cautious note in her voice, “considering …don’t you think that’s a little, I don’t know, odd?”

Sitting back in his chair, Phil considered the question. He could see where May was coming from, he really could. He was well aware that phone numbers weren’t the secret, almost sacred, thing they’d been seen as when he was younger, these days he handed his out, well, his work number at least, perhaps a couple of times a day to people he had much less connection with than Clint. Yet, he’d never asked for Clint’s and Clint had never offered, or vice-versa. And considering the what they had exchanged…Phil’s brow furrowed just thinking about it. Aside from the smuttily obvious, there had been some fairly serious conversations too; were they seeing anyone else at the same time as each other? - they weren’t - were they looking for someone for something more serious? - again, neither of them were but they’d each inform the other if the situation changed - even the sensible (if a bit heated) exchange of sexual histories, test results and the decisions that they’d made from that – Phil was gay, Clint bi, both with a few serious relationships behind them, Clint more than Phil but Phil’s had been longer, neither of them had been involved with anyone since the last breakup they’d already talked about and both came out clean after their last clinic visits which had led to an enthusiastic agreement to do away with condoms whenever they felt like it – Phil dragged his brain away from that particular memory before he got side-tracked. Yet despite all that, there was no entry in his phone for Clint Barton. He could see why May, who might not know all the details but who definitely knew enough, or could guess enough, might find that a bit odd. But, Phil realised, he didn’t. 

“No.” He told May as much, “I don’t. I don’t need it.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Why would I? We always know when we’re seeing each other again.”

“Obviously,” May grimaced, “I know you have your ‘meetings’ every Tuesday and Friday, like clockwork. On a timetable, which, is a thing you shouldn’t even get me started on. And I bet you haven’t missed a single one in the last month.”

“I don’t think so.” In fact, he knew so. Why would he? Not one day, not when he looked forward to them so much, not when they were such a bright spark in his week. God, the thought of Clint being there at the end of a long day was sometimes the only thing that dragged him through some of the meetings his job entailed, knowing he would be able to work off some of that steam, see that smile…and Clint was always happy enough to see him. They had a good time together. Their thing, their system worked, and it worked pretty damn well. “Which is exactly my point.”

“But you don’t ever want to call him between times? Or even just send him a funny picture, or something?”

“Well, of course,” sometimes things caught his eye that he thought Clint would like, that he’d like to share, the comedy thing being an example, but he had a system for that too, “I show them to him when we meet next.”

“You save them. You actually make the effort to save them. On your phone. To show him.”

“Yes?”

“Alright.” May seemed determined to make some kind of a point but Phil really know what it was, “but what if one night you can’t make it? Or he can’t? Or, I don’t know Phil, you just don’t feel like it?”

Now that he could not see happening. Not feeling like seeing Clint? Phil almost laughed, it seemed that unlikely. But, not making it? Well, “Then we wouldn’t see each other that day.”

“And you wouldn’t want to explain? Apologise?”

It was Phil’s turn to roll his eyes. Missing Clint would be disappointing, hell yes, it would, but beyond that? “No, May, that’s the whole point. It’s meant to be fun, no obligations. Clint’ll be there where we’ve arranged, every time he can, and so will I, because that’s we’ve arranged. But if we can’t make it for some reason, we can’t make it. I’d maybe explain what had happened next time, or he would, but it wouldn’t be a big deal. We’re grown-ups having fun, it’s not like we have a contract.”

“That easy?”

He nodded, confidently, “That easy.” After all, disappointment aside, there would always be the next time.

“Really? You wouldn’t be…I don’t know, upset?”

“May, much as I appreciate the thought, you do know you’re prying pretty hard now, yes?”

“I want you to be happy.”

Much as he knew he was lucky to have a friend like May, to Phil’s mind the conversation was getting a little heavy. He smiled reassuringly, trying to convey his own sense of certainty, “So stop worrying. Besides, you’re the one who introduced me to Clint in the first place, much as you like to pretend that wasn’t a set up.”

May huffed in frustration, “I know, and he’s a good guy, but I thought, you know, that you’d get a few dates, someone to bring to the wedding, maybe even a boyfriend, not…”

“Whatever description you’re about to use, please, just don’t. The thing is, I don’t want a boyfriend right now. And neither does he. So that’s not what this is, but I am happy May, believe me. And stop worrying!”

There was a long pause and then to Phil’s relief, May nodded, apparently finally taking his words for the truth he knew they were. “Fine. Keep your twice-weekly no-strings shenanigans, if that’s what you want to call them. But Phil… I’m here, if you need me. Right?”

Phil felt himself warm, yes, he was damn lucky. he nodded keeping eye contact in a silent thank you, “Right.” 

“And you know that if you get yourself hurt I will kick your ass, right?”

“Right.” he let the corner of his mouth curl up, arched an eyebrow, “Can I get back to my work now? It is Tuesday, and I do have class to get to.”

May broke and threw up her hands with an amused snort, “Oh, and don’t I know it…alright, alright. Far be it from me to stop you getting your ‘exercise’.”

“Keeps me healthy.” Phil deadpanned.

“Shut up.”

Phil laughed and turned back to his screen. A quick glance at the clock told him there were only a few hours left before he could finish up and another wave of warmth swept through him, this time for much less family-friendly reasons. God, he hoped today would not be the day Clint couldn’t make it, because he had plans…only holding back the groan building in his throat for May’s sake, he forced himself to focus instead on the floor plan. 

Just another few hours. Christ, but it was good to have a schedule. 

Buzzing with anticipation, he dived back into his task. The time passed quickly enough and he even managed to ignore the pointed glance May shot his way when he checked his phone for the third time. Just to be absolutely sure that the link had saved. 

>>===>>

“God, your shoulders are tight. Something wrong?”

“Not really. Work’s just been a bit heavy this week, you know how it gets.”

“I do. Alright then. Sit on the floor.”

“Why?”

“So that I can rub some of the lumps out of those two concrete blocks you’re lugging around?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but just looking at you is making me ache. Come on, I’m told I’m pretty good at it. Magic thumbs according to some reviews.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“No problem…better?”

“Ohhhh…damnnnnn...that is magic. I feel about ten pounds lighter already.”

“Good.”

“And think how much more flexible I’ll be.”

“That wasn’t exactly my motive.”

“Maybe not. But you have to admit, it’s pretty much a win/win.”

“Could be. Maybe we can test that theory in a while.”

“Sure. Not just yet though, please? There’s a knot under my left shoulder blade that could do with some…argh, yep. That’s it. Ohhhhhh that’s it. Urgh, I’m melting. Please don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

>>===>>

“Clinton, have we completely given up on finding you new jeans or is there another reason that you’ve been staring at that sweater for the entire last minute?” Natasha’s scowled question startled Clint out of his daydream and he jumped,

“Hmmm?” Had the store lights been that bright when they’d come in? He looked over to where Nat was standing, arms folded, and blinked at her, “What?”

“The sweater.” She scowled some more and nodded pointedly over at the shop dummy looming over him, “You’ve been gawping at it for at least thirty seconds with your mouth hanging open. Am I missing something? I’ll admit it is quite a lovely shade of blue, but I wouldn’t say that it’s exactly your colour.”

Following her nod Clint looked back up at the sweater in question and almost blushed. Because it wasn’t just a lovely shade of blue, it was the exact same shade of slate grey blue as Phil’s eyes. His gorgeous, piercing eyes. Which was of course exactly what had caught _Clint’s_ eye in the first place and made him stop in his tracks on the way to the denim section. Which had gotten him thinking how the colour would make Phil’s eyes shine, how good he would look in it, of how the soft fuzziness of the wool or whatever it was would contrast the hard line of his jaw. Clint reached out to finger the sleeve. God, it really was soft. He rubbed the fabric absently between his fingers and thought about giving it to Phil as a present, surprising him with it. And then further, about what it would be like to snuggle up to Phil while he was wearing it, maybe the two of them on his sofa in front of some garbage tv, his face pressed up against this softness on Phil’s chest, feeling the fuzz under his cheek and Phil’s heat bleeding through it, warming him. He’d curl himself up against Phil’s side and Phil would put his arm round him, a heavy, welcome weight round his waist, maybe they’d just stay there, just cuddling, and Phil would smile, so handsome in that colour and maybe he’d lean down for a kiss…

“Ahem.” Nat coughed and it broke Clint out of his trance again. Jesus. He gave himself a mental shake, because - what? He’d never even _seen_ Phil in anything but his work out gear, the tracksuit he usually brought with him to throw on afterwards or his birthday suit and he looked good in all of those (damn good in the case of the last one) so it was kinda weird to be having clothing fantasies. Not to mention one that detailed…and with snuggling? They didn’t do snuggling. Clint liked snuggling, sure, but snuggling wasn’t part of the thing they had going. Their ‘nothing serious’ thing, their _very good_ thing, did not include snuggling or for fuck’s sake, presents and he knew that it didn’t so he had no idea where those thoughts even came from. Stupid fuzzy sweater, confusing him with its snugly texture. Dropping the sleeve Clint turned, fingers tingling, to see Nat still watching him. He coughed and shrugged, like, casual. Super casual, 

“No, I mean, yeah, you’re right. I like it but not for me.”

She employed her signature weapon and raised her eyebrow at him, “So why the staring?”

Caught, Clint dug in his brain for any excuse that would stop him from saying ‘actually, I was having an inappropriate romantic-type fantasy about snuggling the man I’m in a casual fucking relationship with and I don’t want you to know because then you’ll worry that I’m getting overly attached and I’m not, honestly,’ and came up with, “Um, Christmas shopping?”

Nat’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and she folded her arms even tighter, “Who for?”

Shit, she was a rottweiler, “Erm…Bruce?”

For a long moment Nat held his eye, scrutinising, and Clint worked on not giving anything away because there wasn’t anything _to_ give away, there really wasn’t. He must have managed it convincingly enough because eventually she looked away from him and back at the dummy, shaking her head, “It isn’t right for Bruce either, he looks better in purple. And it’s also August. There is such a thing as thinking about things too soon you know.” With an air of ‘case-closed’ finality she took his arm and started walking. With a sigh, Clint let himself be led,

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Sorry. So, jeans and then coffee?”

“Jeans and then coffee. With muffins. And you’re buying.” 

“Sure,” he agreed. They kept walking, the fuzzy blue-grey blob in his peripheral vision already fading and Clint breathed out, mentally chalked the whole thing up to too much time in the mall and not enough lunch and didn’t think about it for the rest of the day.

The fact that he did however find himself in the same store just three days later, buying the sweater and stowing it carefully in the bottom of his closet wasn’t a big deal. It was just…. Well. What if Phil turned out to be of those prolific gifters and wanted to do Christmas, or, or something? If Clint didn’t have anything to gift him back, that would be awkward, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t outside the realms of possibility, friends gave each other gifts all the time, and they were friends, weren’t they? Clint might never have been a boy scout but surely it couldn’t hurt to be prepared just in case. It was only being sensible. Any errant fuzz-based thoughts had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

>>===>>

“You haven’t? Really, honestly, you should watch it, it’s amazing. I’m serious, the cinematography absolutely blew me away, you’d love the way it uses colour.” 

“I’ve heard. I mean it’s on the list but I’ve just never gotten around to it yet.”

“Well, I’ve a copy somewhere, if you fancy? I mean, you don’t have to humour me but..”

“No, that sounds good, if you like it I bet I will.”

“Great, I’ll look it out for next time then.”

“Oh, so you’re sure there’ll be a next time?” 

“Ohhhh, I’m fairly confident….”

“Excellent.”

>>===>>

“So, May is like, the office badass, then? And Fitzsimmons makes the gadgets…I forget, are they one person or two?” 

Phil shivered as Clint, spooned tight up behind him, blew cool air against the heated back of his neck, and then again when that made Clint chuckle, “Two,” he said, “though it’s - ah!- not always easy to remember that, they do very much...nngh…come as a pair.”

“Hmmmm.” Clint’s hand moved from its place on Phil’s hip and slid up to toy with his chest hair. Phil tried very, very hard not to move but it was next to impossible. Especially when Clint, absolutely knowing what he was doing the utter _bastard_ , started swiping his thumb, completely unceremoniously, over his nipple, teasing with soft, slow circles apparently specifically designed to keep him on the edge of madness. Phil couldn’t help it, his chest pushed forward into the touch which in turn rocked his hips back and that sent sparks of blazing pleasure dancing up his spine. He shuddered a moan and Clint chuckled again, dropping a sucking kiss just behind his ear. “So,” he carried on, as if Phil wasn’t currently shaking apart in his arms, “there’s them and then there’s Nick. Fury. But you call him Nick. And he’s your boss, but also like, your oldest friend? Yes?”

He punctuated the question with a soft pinch and Phil gasped, “Yes!”

“So how long have you known him for then? In total?”

Damn that still-moving thumb, those wonderfully calloused fingertips, they made it so hard to _think_ , “I don’t…ah!...about twenty years?”

Clint’s mouth twitched against the curve of his shoulder, “Is that an actual answer or are you asking me?”

“Christ! Alright,” Phil gritted his teeth, fresh sweat sliding down his brow “twenty-two years, give or take. But I haven’t seen him in a couple of months because he’s away organising the new branch on the coast. Will that do?”

“Sure. Fun story.” 

Something caught halfway between anger at Clint’s flippancy and maddening desire for his touch rushed through Phil, sending his entire skin hot and he snapped, growling, “Well forgive me if I don’t really want to talk about my _work_ when I’m lying here pinned and with your _cock_ buried in my ass…nngh, ah!”

“Ohh,” Clint lifted his lips from Phil’s shoulder and smoothed his hand across his chest, down his side, soothing, even though Phil could clearly hear the smirk in his voice, “well that’s hardly my fault, is it?”

Phil tried to force himself to relax, to focus on feeling the sweep of Clint’s palm and not the relentless aching of his own, forlornly untouched, cock, the hot stretch in his ass, but it was so much and he couldn’t help snarling, “Not your fault? How is not your fault? You’re the one who jerked off over me! I’m sure you remember, it wasn’t that long ago!”

“It was a million years ago.” Clint’s thumb was back teasing his nipple again, sending shocks skittering across his skin, “And it was _totally_ your fault. You were on your knees with your hand round your dick and three fingers up your ass, was I not meant to touch myself? Jesus, I’m not made of stone!” Another firm pinch had Phil biting his lip and he shuddered when Clint’s voice dropped lower, molten in his ear, “And then you said…” he trailed off, leading and Phil groaned, tipping his head back so Clint could mouth his earlobe gently, flicking at it with his tongue,

“Ohhhh, godddd…I said – nnghaaa-” Phil gasped, regretting and rejoicing every single word, “I said, ‘do it, do it and then get in me while you can. I’ll wait.”

“So I’m only giving you what you asked for aren’t I?”

“Yessssss…” the word dragged out of him because he was, he was, had been, but it had been such a long, long time, eons, since Clint had finished himself off, since Phil’d watched that gorgeous face crumple so beautifully as Clint spilled over his chest, and since he’d roughly flipped Phil onto his side and pushed hurriedly into him where he was wet and open and waiting and he was _still there_. Not fully hard but nowhere near soft just this half and half insanity, still there, pressing in all the right places as if he was born and shaped exactly to make Phil crazy. Epochs had come and gone, civilisations had risen and fallen, the world might have ended a couple of times and Clint was still _in_ him, filling him with that sweetly burning pressure, not moving, not _doing_ anything but _there_ , just there oh so maddeningly _there_ and Phil could feel him in his toes, his bones, in every inch of himself, he was so full and Clint’s hands were still stroking, teasing and it had been so long, so fucking long he couldn’t stand it, could hardly stand it, didn’t know _how_ to stand it. He pulled in a ragged breath, ready to ask for something to happen, for Clint to move, for it to stop, just for _something_ when Clint nipped at the tip of his ear and laughed, dark and self-assured, and just the tiniest bit ragged,

“Feels good though, doesn’t it?”

And it did. Oh god, it did. 

It was too hot, too much and too full and Phil’s skin was too small, he was bursting with want and wait, writhing, desperate and his body was roaring, it felt _magnificent_. Filthy and terrible and fucking _magnificent_. Phil groaned and with that admission finally managed to let go, to let the tension bleed out of him and sink back into the heat of Clint, the weight of him, into that relentless, wonderful, pressure. It burned and it ached and it felt so damn good and Phil sighed, feeling himself tumble, practically melting down into the pillows supporting him. His body went lax, beyond his control, and Clint rumbled a startled groan as he followed him down, pressing in even further. The shift and the vibration of Clint’s voice rippled through Phil, making his cock jerk, making him gasp, “Jesus, it does, it does, you do. Really _really_ good.”

“Aaah,” Clint panted against his throat, his hands clenching on Phil’s chest, “ah, shit, tell me about it. You’re so _warm_ , fuck…”

He pressed his head down into the back of Phil’s neck, shivering, and that move and the honest want in Clint’s voice, the cracks in it, soothed Phil even more than the petting had, helped him back to that warm, soft point where ‘want’ and ‘wait’ met in perfect balance, that place where he could enjoy the tease and revel in the desperation. And it was desperation. Phil shuddered himself, tremors running through his body, new sweat slipping down his back, moaning,

“Are…are you…?”

“Not,” Clint groaned, “not quite.”

“Touch me then.” Phil begged, “Talk to me.”

Clint obeyed instantly, hands moving, the one curled around under Phil’s neck starting to stroke his chest again, the other dropping low to draw circles across his hip.

“What should I talk about?”

Phil cast his eyes about desperately and they lighted on the corner of Clint’s bedroom where a bookcase held an assortment of ribbons and trophies and what looked like certificates all jumbled together on the shelves. He nodded towards it as best he could, “Those. What are those?”

“Ah.” Clint suddenly sounded…bashful? Which was ridiculous, considering the position he was in, the fact that his wandering hand had just wandered off Phil’s hip and was teasing its way down the crease of his groin, “well, those are mine. I won them.”

“I…ah!...got that. For?”

“I shoot.”

“Guns?” 

Clint chuckled, nuzzled into Phil’s neck, his fingers starting to tease gently around the base of his cock, “No. Well, yeah, I can, but those are for archery. I’m an archer.”

“Like, nnngh, like Robin Hood?”

Clint chuckled again, “I usually get Legolas. Or maybe Katniss if people are feeling snarky. But, if you prefer old-school, yeah, like Robin Hood. How did you think I got these?” he trailed his fingers upwards, dragging rough calloused fingertips up Phil’s length, circling round his weeping tip, catching on the delicate skin until Phil wanted to scream.

“You must be good.” he managed to force out instead, “with the bow, I mean.”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Quiet pride filled Clint’s voice and it was almost as intoxicating as the loose circle he’d made of his fist, the soft grip round Phil’s cock, stroking him achingly slowly. Phil couldn’t help his hips rocking forward and the drag on his insides had them both hissing. Clint gripped him a little tighter, “I’m very good.”

“Really? How good?” Phil softened the challenge, throwing his hand up to grip Clint’s wrist, to caress his as far up his forearm as he could reach, feeling the muscles shifting under his skin, “I mean, you’ve got the arms for it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know you like the arms,” Clint bit at his earlobe again, and Phil felt him grin when that made him gasp, “but yeah, I’ve competed internationally. Done pretty well too. Tony – Stark – he’s my sponsor. Built me a range for training.”

“And you like it?”

“Love it.” Clint hands speeded up as he warmed to his subject, the circle of his fist just that bit faster, the stroke across his nipple just a bit firmer and Phil jerked in his hold. Between those points of pleasure, the constant press inside and Clint’s happy hum in his ear, he was teetering dangerously on an edge he wasn’t ready to fall over yet, but he couldn’t have stopped him Clint for the world. Instead he shifted his own hand down to grip Clint’s ass, digging his fingers into his muscle and Clint’s voice faltered even as he kept talking, “It’s, nngh, ah shit, the best thing, seeing the target, feeling it, knowing the arrow is, ahh, is going to go exactly where you want it. Just, awesome.”

“I bet.” Phil could just picture it, Clint, arms bare, muscle bunched, one arm out and the other pulling back, the lines it would make, which, _wait_ , explained the move that had knocked him so thoroughly off his feet in class that first time, the ‘black magic’ thing, the natural fluidity of that draw, the practised smoothness of that shoulder roll. No wonder it had stolen his breath, Phil knew he had a very definite competence kink, hardly surprising that grace in Clint’s actions had hit him hard. He groaned, remembering, imagining, hand gripping reflexively and pulling Clint even closer, “I just bet.”

“You could,” Clint panted, and yes, he was panting now, canting his hips minutely against Phil as if testing his own readiness, shifting just slightly and sending tiny waves of pleasure through Phil’s skin, spiralling him higher and higher, closer to that edge. Phil didn’t know how much longer he could last, how much longer he could survive this build up “you could always come and watch me train sometime.”

“I’d love to.” Phil gasped, thoughtless to anything except the growing need dragging his soul out by the roots and then he absolutely _whined_ when Clint suddenly stilled, loosened his hand,

“Really? You would?”

“Yes!” There was a wounded whimpering coming from somewhere and it took Phil a second to realise that it was him, jesus, he was making that noise and it was so desperate, so undignified, but it had been so long and he needed…he needed…he just needed, “Clint, Clint, please… Is it…can you? God, Clint, please, please…?” 

Whatever had stalled Clint must have passed because he leaned forward and caught Phil’s mouth in a hard kiss that froze and burnt him all at once, consuming, wonderful, despite the awkward angle, “Yes, yes,” he spoke against Phil’s lips, “I got you…” The hand on Phil’s cock vanished and he almost screamed in frustration as Clint scrabbled in the bedclothes. Just as Phil was about to reach the absolute apex of his tolerance for any more _fucking waiting_ he heard the soft click of the lube tube cap and coolness poured down between his cheeks, a shocking balm on his hot skin. Gently, insistently Clint rolled him over until he was on his front, and he almost sobbed at the relief of pressure against his tortured cock, the promise of movement at last. Clint reared above him on those amazing arms, still seated deep, and rocked his hips a few times. “Look what you do to me…. “ he said wonderingly, “Jesus christ, you’re so hot Phil. I’m hard as nails again. So,” he lowered himself close, hummed the question into Phil’s shoulder blades, “Alright down there? Ready to finally get fucked?”

Phil almost knocked the pillows off with his frantic nod. He didn’t think he’d ever been more ready for anything in his life.  
“Hang on then, I’m not going to be taking this easy.”

Clint was as good as his word from the very beginning, moving in long, powerful, strokes at an aching speed that had Phil jolting up the bed as well as seeing stars. It was everything he’d been waiting for, begging for, it was fucking magnificent. He slid up his hands to brace against the headboard and pressed his hips up against Clint as much as he could, pushing his back into an aching curve that was absolutely worth it when Clint growled and buried himself impossibly further. Phil’s arms shook with every impact, his cock rubbed mercilessly against the mattress and he moaned desperately into the pillow, loving every single, punishingly perfect second. Clint however, now that he’d revealed that he was a marksman apparently decided to show off his skills and shifted, pushing one hand under Phil to not only get him access to start fisting Phil’s cock but also to raise his hips just minutely enough that he was suddenly hitting Phil’s prostate with every stroke, an arrow right on the bullseye. Phil shouted hoarsely, stunned at the sudden double onslaught of bright, jagged pleasure and bucked up under Clint, earning a shout of his own. The pressure, the fullness which had been so relentless and so much for so long simply built and built until at last Phil was overwhelmed by it and he came with an exhausted, ecstatic cry, every muscle in his body straining as he finally spilled over. Absolutely spent, he couldn’t do anything but collapse into the mattress, a puppet with his strings well and truly cut, as Clint followed him down, holding him at the wrists and fucking a last few, desperate times against and into his body, rocking firecely into him before he shuddered and came himself, jerking deep and moaning into Phil’s throat. They lay like that for a good while, panting, shivering against each other, Phil entirely unable to muster any coherent thought, just floating, despite being pinned under Clint’s weight, floating in a gentle sea of endorphins, quite carried away by the tide. Eventually, Clint shifted and pulled back but before the rush of cold air could startle Phil found himself being turned yet again, this time to be pulled into Clint’s arms so that they were face-to-face. Clint’s eyes were as far-away and starry as Phil knew his must be and he had an adorably smug half-smile playing across his lips . Smiling himself, Phil couldn’t help leaning in to kiss it, and Clint’s arms squeezed round him. They exchanged a few lazy, uncoordinated kisses before settling back into an easy embrace. Phil would have to get up soon, as always, but there was enough time to enjoy the post-coital glow, and he was in no real hurry to rush out. His eyes were just threatening to drift shut when he felt the pillow shift and opened them to see Clint grinning languidly at him.

“So,” he asked, cheekily, “worth the wait?” 

Phil smirked, “Oh, quite. I think I like it when you do what you’re told.”

Clint snorted and shoved him in mock-offence but Phil just laughed, stole a final kiss and slowly they slipped into satisfied silence.

It was a good hour before Phil felt capable of dragging himself out of the bed, pulling reluctantly away from the warmth of Clint’s slumbering bulk and back to reality. He fumbled for his clothes by the light of his phone screen and pulled them on as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the sleeping beauty. Trying to pull up his zip with just the one hand made the screen wobble, momentarily putting Clint’s bookcase in the spotlight and Phil couldn’t resist going in for a closer look. There were so many things on there, tributes and trinkets all jumbled on together, not exactly a display, but a repository of what must be Clint’s excellence. He ran one of the ribbons through his fingers, it was purple, aptly, and felt a strange glow rising in his chest. It felt almost like…pride. But that was a stupid thought, Phil scoffed at himself. Clint was amazing, more amazing every time Phil learned anymore about him true, but he wasn’t Phil’s to be proud over. Phil gave himself a mental shake before he could get too…stupid, and deliberately dragged his thoughts in a different direction. Which wasn’t hard because the thought of Clint, bow in hand, good god. The fantasy probably owed a little too much to Kevin Costner, Prince of Thieves, but it was too easy picture those forearms all wrapped up in protective straps, muscles working, straining, under the leather and whoops, yep, he’d better change that train of thought too before he ended up climbing right back into bed. 

Instead, Phil walked back across the room and knelt down by Clint’s side, smiling at his sleep scrumpled face, “Hey, Clint. Clint?” Clint just grunted and scrunched up his nose even more, one hand flopping out of the covers to flap vaguely in Phil’s direction. Phil huffed a quiet laugh and caught it between his own, pushing his thumb into Clint’s palm and rubbing up the strong bones of his fingers, paying particular attention to the calluses he was now really rather fond of. Eventually, Clint cracked one bleary eye,

“mmmmm, ‘s nice.”

“Good.” Phil stroked his thumb around Clint’s wrist, “But I have to go, alright?

“urgh.”

Which was very much how Phil felt about it. The night had, after all, been very, very good. “True. But I have to.”

“Pff. ‘kay.”

And that, apparently, was as much as he was going to get out of Clint, whose eye was already closing again. Phil bit his lip to hold in the laugh and gave Clint’s hand one more squeeze before he stood. He was halfway out of the door when Clint called after him, voice heavy and rough with sleep, “I’ll see y’n Friday, though, righ’?” 

The fact that Clint, with no obligation whatsoever, wanted him to keep coming back? Now there was something he _could_ be proud of. Phil grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The warm feeling followed him all the way home.

>>===>>

“I’m sorry about Tuesday.”

“Don’t worry about it, couldn’t be helped. Work happens.”

“Yes, but…”

“No really, it’s…well, it’s not like this is written in stone is it?”

“No, no it’s not. Still…I’d rather have been here.”

“Well, sure. But…you know, you are here now…”

“So I am. Anything you plan to do about that?”

“Oh, well, I’m sure I can think of something.”

>>===>>

“And then” Clint was telling a story about an impatient client as he made his way up to his apartment, opening the door with Phil following behind, “I said that sure, he was welcome to try and pick the damn weight up if he wanted to tear his shoulder out again but that it wouldn’t be _me_ explaining to Bruce why his PT had put him back in the hospital. Which, not surprisingly, shut him right the hell up. But hey, enough of my workday, how…” he paused, “Phil, what’s with that face?”

Phil, who was indeed wearing the tiny smile and hooded eyes that Clint had come to think of his ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea…’ face after seeing it several times in the comfort of his own bedroom, each time usually just before he saw stars, just smiled a little more. No, he didn’t smile, he smirked. Phil was _smirking_. It was fucking indecent, that was what it was, a low-down look like that on a high-class man like Phil, like one of those things from high school poetry class, an oxy-something and Clint felt more than a little of his blood rush south, purely on reflex. Because sure, they’d come up to his place for sex, they both knew that, but that look, oh that look meant Clint was in the best kind of trouble….

“Phil?” 

Phil took a step forward, closed the apartment door, then bent to unzip his bag and “I brought you something.” 

“Yeah?” Clint asked, “What kind of a something?”

Phil stood and held his find out with a flourish, “This kind.” 

Clint, who had fully been expecting something silicone, nicely tapered and possibly buzzy, frowned for a second at the black and white striped cardboard box he was being offered. Seconds later recognition kicked in and he gasped in greedy delight, “Cake Hole? Seriously? You went to Cake Hole?” he made grabby hands at the box and Phil handed it over with a chuckle,

“Well, I was passing, and the storefront caught my eye. That logo, you know? And I seemed to remember you mentioning that it was a good bakery.”

“Good?” Clint stared at the box, as he walked into the kitchen, running his fingers reverently over the large, shiny pair of rainbow-coloured lips that decorated the top of the box, the logo Phil had been so caught by, “They’re more than good, they’re awesome, absolutely awesome. This is so cool! I can’t believe you even remembered the place, that was weeks ago. And then you bought me a treat!” 

“Well…not really.” 

The tone of Phil’s voice, all smooth flow with just a _hint_ of an edge, had Clint’s eyes snapping back up to his face. And oh, there was that look still but like, even more of it, that twist to Phil’s lips, those sexy eyes gone sparkling dark, and okay, wow, there was some game here for sure and he was quite willing to play along,

“No?” his throat clicked, suddenly dry as he swallowed, “Not a treat?”

“No.” Phil started to move forward. He wasn’t so much walking towards Clint as he was stalking towards him and Clint found that he was automatically stepping backwards, his heart, which had been calming after the exertions of class, starting to race again. He hit the kitchen counter with a thump, spine pressed against the hard edge, nowhere to go and let out a shaky breath. Phil, still smiling that little, deadly, smile, stopped just a couple of steps away,

“It’s not _just_ a treat anyway. Think of it more as a…challenge.” raising one eyebrow he gestured down at Clint, holding the cake box in front of him like a shield, “Why don’t you take a look?”

It wasn’t easy to drag his attention away from Phil but somehow Clint managed it. Just. He flipped the lid of the box open and, “Hey, great!” he exclaimed, “Cheesecake!” Then, “Ohhh…” heat flooded through him as the memory surfaced and even more of his blood raced to join its friends as he put two and two together, “Cheesecake...”

The smile widened into more of a grin, an absolutely filthy thing and suddenly it was quite hard for Clint to breathe,

“Indeed. Cheesecake.” Phil took half a step forward and Clint, expecting a kiss, went to move the box out of the way but instead, Phil sank slowly to his knees. Clint watched, spellbound as Phil stroked big warm hands up his calves to settle on his thighs and then leant right in to nuzzle against the front of his shorts, right against his half-hard cock. When Clint’s breath left him in a hard ‘whoosh’, Phil gripped at his thighs and hummed smugly into the fabric and damn, didn’t that just take ‘half’ to ‘full’ in about one point five seconds? Clint groaned, suddenly light-headed, and felt Phil’s answering smile,

“The first time you mentioned it to me,” Phil said, almost absently, deliberately casual but mouthing the words into Clint’s crotch, against his suddenly very, _very_ hard flesh in a way that was not casual _at all_ , “you made certain assertions about these cheesecakes. Do you remember?” He punctuated the question with kisses that dampened the fabric of Clint’s shorts, little nips that almost but didn’t quite reach his skin and made it difficult to remember anything at all besides _hot_ and _teeth_ and _Phil’s mouth_ ,

“I..ah…oh fuck…might have said…” Clint managed shakily, the box trembling in his hands, “that they were…jesus…better than blowjobs.”

“Hmmmm.” Phil agreed, rubbing his cheek against Clint until Clint swore, “And I wondered…” his hands crept up and sneaked under Clint’s waistband, pulling it wide and then easing it down so Clint’s that embarrassingly eager cock jutted out bare into the shockingly cool air, “if you’d care to test that assertion?” Without any warning Phil leaned in and licked one wide stripe from base to tip and Clint’s hips bucked, hard.

“Holy fucking!…mother of…..goddddd…” Clint struggled for composure, balanced the box in one hand and used the other to bring Phil’s face up to look at him, “how, exactly?”

“Easy.” Phil twisted his fingers and conjured from who freakin’ knew _where_ because apparently he was some sort of fucking cutlery ninja as well as a kinky motherfucker, an honest-to-gods _fork_. Eyes twinkling wickedly he offered it up to Clint, “It’s a…last man standing kind of a thing.”

Clint could not believe it, he honestly couldn’t. That Phil was this hot, and this… _fuck_ …naughty, and this _fun_. He was too perfect. The mind boggled. In a daze, Clint reached out and took the fork, “So, you want me to…eat cheesecake while you…and…”

“We see which one holds your interest the longest.” Phil finished for him. “It’s going to be very scientific.”

Clint leaned back against the counter, getting what support he could, and dug the fork into the cake, “Oh, well,” he said, lifting it, ignoring the way it trembled, “If it’s for science.”

He barely had time to get the forkful into his mouth, to register the taste; creamy, biscuit, some sort of fruit, maybe blueberry, maybe raspberry, before Phil lunged... _oh fuck!_ and sucked him down to the root. Jesus christ, Clint almost choked.

It was less than two minutes and three mouthfuls before he had to let the box hit the floor so that he could grip the counter-top for balance, white-knuckled and gasping. 

Less than five minutes before he hauled Phil to his feet and dragged him, laughing, to somewhere more comfortable. 

And less than forty before he came running back to retrieve the cheesecake, because, hey, his floor was clean and neither he nor Phil minded that the cake was a bit squashed. Just because it had come a definitive second in their experiment didn’t mean that ought to be wasted. He did forget the fork but that didn’t matter in the end since they ate it using their fingers. And each other’s fingers. With Phil’s abs and Clint’s collarbones and both their throats as makeshift plates…The next hour or so was messy as hell and Clint loved it.

Once Phil had showered and gone home like he had to Clint flopped happily back into bed, feeling very slightly nauseous, pretty damn sticky and absolutely fucking fantastic. He lay sprawled in an undignified heap and just basked in it, full belly, tired limbs, aching muscles. Awesome. Eventually, stretching, he rolled over into the vast, empty space of his bed and felt a twinge. Yeah, it was awesome, except that…but no. _No_. He’d just gotten everything he’d signed up for, in spades and with cheesecake for fuck’s sake. It was great. It was enough. No _excepts_. There weren’t any, couldn’t be any and he didn’t want any. He didn’t. Clint huffed at himself and got up to stomp off to the shower, grumbling all the way. Aw, fuck, some of the shine was totally gone off his mood now and sticky was starting to feel just plain icky. What in hell was wrong with him?

>>===>>

“Are you not comfortable over there? You’re fidgeting.”

“No…just a bit cold. I think there’s a draft from the kitchen.”

“Come over here then, I’ve got plenty of blanket and it’s really warm.”

“You don’t mind sharing?”

“Nope. Come on, quick shuffle over. There’s a good bit coming and we don’t want to miss it.”

“Okay, where shall I…”

“You just…there and I’ll…ow…”

“Sorry, I’ll move back...”

“No, it’s fine, if I just put my arm up there…and you go under...that’s it…and the arm goes back…here. Okay?”

“Ohhh, that is warm.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t be smug just because you make a good pillow.”

“Would I?”

“Yes. Now shhh, you’re missing it.”

>>===>>

“Alright guys….oh…a’choo! Urgh.” Phil watched with concern as Clint sneezed hugely then sniffed and smiled weakly at the class. “That’s us done for tonight. Sorry if I’ve not been my best today, guess colds don’t respect the class schedule…but I’ll make it up to you on Tuesday, right? Come prepared to sweat!”

Clint waved and the rest of the class started to filter out. Phil started packing his own things away but kept half an eye on Clint as he shuffled about the stage packing up the glowsticks and switching off lights. All his usual energy, the bounce Phil was so used to seeing, was missing, as if the class had drained him right down to the dregs. Phil’s heart, usually racing with anticipation by now twisted with worry instead. Clint really did look pale.

As if to prove that he was right to be concerned Clint, who was trying to clamber down off the stage with none of his usual grace, stumbled and wobbled, coming scarily close to actually losing his balance completely falling right off the edge. Phil was across the room and grabbing his elbow to steady him in a second, helping him safely to the floor.

“Shit…” Phil took his hand from Clint’s arm then pressed his palm flat to his forehead and frowned. Clint was almost scalding. “You’re so hot.”

Clint grinned weakly, “You always say that.”

“No...I mean…” Phil huffed a small laugh at Clint’s joke, “Come on. I need to get you to bed.”

Now Clint frowned, looking puzzled, “Phil…I don’t think I’m really up for it tonight, sorry.”

He meant it. He actually meant it. Phil’s gut twisted, “No, not like that. I don’t expect…Just…let me help you upstairs, alright?”

Clint nodded. “Alright.”

They walked slowly out of the hall and past the café area, Clint barely lifting his feet. As soon as they were past the main part of the gym and into he back corridors Phil wrapped his arm round Clint’s waist and hitched Clint’s arm up over his own shoulders, offering to take his weight. It was awkward with the bag and the size of Clint, but Phil wasn’t about to let him stumble on under his own power when the energy was visibly leaking out of him. Clint, for his part, leaned heavily into Phil’s side with a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his fancy flashing shoes. 

“Class really took it out of you hey?” Clint didn’t answer and Phil tightened his grip and pulled him in close so that he wouldn’t fall.

By the time they reached the small practise room with the door that led up to Clint’s apartment, Clint’s eyes were pretty much closed. Which posed a definite problem. Bracing their weight against the doorframe Phil jostled Clint,

“Hey, Clint, wake up for me?”

Clint turned closer into Phil’s side, buried his head into his ribs, “Nmmmmm.”

“Clint, seriously, come on. I need you to wake up just for a minute.” He gave him a firmer shake and Clint’s head came up just a little,

“Whaaa?” he asked, blearily.

“Code Clint. You need to put the code in for your door.” 

“C’de?”

“Code. Come on, just put the code in for your door and we can get you into bed.” He heaved Clint round as far as possible so that he was facing the key pad and prodded him towards it, “Code, Clint.”

“Hmmpf.” Clint lifted a hand and stared at it as if he couldn’t remember what it was for, then sighed and leaned back into Phil, “4367152.”

Oh. Clint trusted him with the door code. Right. Phil felt a familiar glow that had nothing to do with the heat of finishing an exercise class and then lugging round a full grown man and he tapped at the keys with a sense of…worthiness? Stupid, Phil. Just put in the numbers.

Code inputted, Phil half walked with and half hauled Clint up the stairs and into his apartment, bypassing the lounge and dragging him straight to the bedroom. Once there, Clint flopped down onto the mattress like a sack of spuds and Phil barely managed to keep him upright while he tried to figure out the best course of action. Surely Clint should get changed for bed, and while it wasn’t like Phil hadn’t seen him naked a million times, or like he was going even going to _think_ anything sexual while Clint was in this state, it still felt...strange. As if there was a line he was dangerously close to overstepping. In the end practically won out over doubt and Phil leaned Clint’s weight onto his shoulder while he dug under the pillow for the soft sweats and shirt Clint usually wore to sleep,

“I don’t think I can manage you in the shower so you’ll just have to go to bed sweaty, sorry.” Gently, he started tugging Clint’s workout vest up over his head, “You can always have a shower in the morning. Lift your arms a bit? Alright, there we go…”

“Heh,” Clint chuckled, still no more than half awake, “knew you couldn’t wait to get my clothes off…”

Phil froze, “I didn’t…” he started but Clint patted him clumsily on the cheek then toppled slowly back until he was lying down. 

“Joking, no…thanks Phil…I just...aw, shorts, no…”

He’d started pushing at his waistband, ineffectually, totally missing the elastic, and Phil just couldn’t watch him struggle. Instead, he pushed Clint’s hands away and dragged the shorts off then pulled the sweats up over his feet and calves, snugging them up when Clint half lifted his hips to help. As soon as he was fully covered, Clint wriggled straight up the bed and buried his face into his pillow with a happy groan. 

“Imma sleep for a _week_.”

“Not yet you’re not, hang on.” Phil darted into the bathroom. It took him just a few seconds to root through the now-familiar shelves, find the bottle of Nyquil and get back to Clint’s side, dose in hand. Lifting Clint’s shoulders he helped him sit up enough to get the cup near his mouth without spilling all over the bedclothes, “Come on, you need something to fight this off. Swallow.”

“Bet you say that to all the boys.” Clint tried to smirk but his usual twinkle was severely depleted and he ended up coughing instead. “Sorry.” he said, finally taking his medicine. “I’ll be more fun next time.”

Phil lay him down again and pulled the covers up to his chin, “Clint. You don’t have to be fun…you’re sick.”

“Hmmm, yeah, you might be riiiii…guurrrrgghh” the final part of the sentence was lost in a huge yawn and Clint snuggled back down into the pillows again, “Thanks Phil,” he muttered, now much less than half awake, “you’re good. I mean you’re a good…thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Phil answered but Clint didn’t hear, he was out already. Snoring gently and curled up clutching the pillow into his chest like a teddy bear.

Slowly, Phil pulled the bedclothes straight. Then tucked them in tight around Clint, making sure no cool air could find its way down his back. Then fetched a glass of water and a granola bar and put them onto Clint’s night stand. Then tucked the covers in again. Finally, he perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. 

He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, while Clint was obviously sick he wasn’t _sick_ sick, no vomiting or dangerous fever and he was sleeping well enough, very well if you considered the snoring. With a good night’s sleep and some rest over the weekend he’d probably be right as rain and if Phil was totally honest he didn’t think Clint really need watching. Add to that the fact that he hadn’t ever stayed at Clint’s place overnight and that he certainly hadn’t been invited to now, even thinking of staying there seemed…overkill. But despite all that there was a tiny voice at the back of his head clamouring that he needed to be there, to make sure that Clint was alright, to keep him safe… a tiny voice that definitely wanted him to stay. Sighing, Phil put a hand on the hump of blanket that was Clint’s hip and rested it there. Clint’s eyes stayed closed but he shifted lightly under the weight and smiled into his pillow, so relaxed and under and beautiful that it made Phil’s guts ache. He was used to that, seeing Clint and having an instant, visceral reaction, but to see him like this felt like a privilege. It took a good few minutes before Phil realised he was still sitting there, poised and watching Clint, and when he did he huffed at himself in frustration. It was a privilege but it wasn’t his privilege to take advantage of. He’d gotten Clint where he needed to be, seen him safe and comfortable and that was the end of it. Sitting here like some sort of sentry wasn’t necessary and it wasn’t his place either. That would be a boyfriend’s job. Which he, Phil, wasn’t.

It still took a few more minutes before he was able to tear himself away from the warmth of the bed and the huddled shape in it and make his way to the door. His hand was on the handle before he went back for one final check, just to make sure the water wasn’t close enough to be knocked over. Just to move Clint’s phone out of the place on the kitchen counter where he always left it to charge while he was at work and into grabbing distance. There was a pad on the counter and Phil used to it write a quick note hoping that Clint would feel better soon and propped that on the nightstand as well near the glass. Finally, there really was nothing else he could do and with one last check of Clint’s covers, one last tuck in around his chest, Phil squished the little voice again and finally made it back down the stairs and into the dance studio. Clint’s door closed and (triple) checked behind him he made his way down to the café area where, thankfully, the brown-haired girl who ran the place was still at work shutting up for the night.

“Excuse me?”

She turned, “We’re closed, sorry.” 

“No, I mean yea, I know that. I just…I’m Phil. Clint’s…friend.” Phil hefted his bag and hoped that he didn’t look as awkward as he suddenly felt. Somehow under her knowing gaze their ‘fun’ arrangement seemed a little less mature and reasonable than he normally thought of it. But she smiled,

“Phil! Yeah sure. I’m Darcy. What’s up?”

“Clint’s not feeling well. I’ve got him into bed, I mean…” internally Phil cursed and hope that he wasn’t blushing, “I mean I’ve put him to bed and he’s sleeping now, but I wondered, is there someone who could check on him later?”

Darcy gave him a long, appraising look, apparently looking for more and Phil braced himself not to break under the gaze and say something inappropriate or that Clint might not want to share, Eventually she nodded. “Sure. I’ll get Nat to go up once her late client finishes. Nat’s like, Clint’s best friend.” 

“I know. That’s…great. Thanks” Phil nodded headed quickly to the doors.

“You’re not staying?” Darcy called the question across the lobby and Phil shook his head in what he hoped was a friendly way. Clint was safe, warm and medicated and had a friend looking in on him soon. He didn’t need him. There was absolutely no reason for him to stay. 

Phil repeated the phrase to himself more than several times on the way home.

>>===>>

It was a relief to see that by Tuesday Clint was back to his usual bouncing, twinkling self. In fact, he had even more energy than ever, if the way he was currently pinning Phil against the wall was any evidence, the way he was attacking Phil’s throat with eager and extremely clever lips,

“So I take it …ah!...take it you’re feeling better…”

“So much better.” Clint grinned into the sweet spot behind Phil’s ear and ran a hand down his back to squeeze his ass, “And even better now that you’re here.” Phil’s head thumped back against the wall and he gasped as Clint bit at his earlobe. Clint just laughed and started to kiss his way down Phil’s jawline until he reached his lips. Phil felt the smile there and smiled back just for a second before Clint claimed his mouth absolutely, kissing him wet, messy and breathless. “Come on Phil,” Clint panted when he finally pulled back just a little, “bedroom. I owe you one.”

“No you don’t.” Clint’s hand was tugging at his ass now, pulling him forward insistently but Phil resisted, because that wasn’t at all how he wanted Clint to think of it, not at all, “You were sick. I wasn’t doing it for…You don’t ‘owe’ me anything.”

Clint stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “Sorry, yeah, god no, I didn’t mean it like that. Bad choice of words. What I do mean is, thank you for looking after me Phil, with like, the bed and Nyquil and the water and stuff, I really do appreciate that you did it. And that you stayed until I fell asleep. It was…great. Really good.” He darted forward to plant a kiss on Phil’ cheek, just a brief peck, there and gone in a second but full enough of warmth that it left Phil slightly stunned, “So, yeah thanks.” Then his face changed, eyes twinkling, his mouth pouting into what was definitely a held-back grin of epically suggestive proportions, “But…” There was no other word for it, Clint looked wicked and the way he came forward again, slowly, with an exaggerated sway of his hips choked Phil’s throat and instantly dried his mouth, “I missed you when I woke up. Missed our Friday I mean, and as much as I am absolutely feeling better right now, who knows? All this UST might send me downhill again. So, how about you look after my health and put me back to bed, just in case?” He waggled his eyebrows lewdly but Phil’s laugh was cut short when Clint went back to grabbing his ass, with two hands this time, and pulled him in close, “What do you say?”

Fully mollified and more than a little interested, Phil grinned and let his own hands go wandering, “I say that you’re just used to getting it on the regular.”

“Maybe I am. How are you set for giving it to me?”

This time Phil went with the pull of Clint’s hands as he started to walk backwards towards the bedroom again. He pulled a contemplative face, pretended to give the idea hard thought, and then shrugged, “Well, if it’s for your health, I suppose I could oblige. As long as you’re sure.”

“Oh, hell yes. You’re absolutely the best tonic.”

Well, then,” Phil smirked, “consider the doctor in.”

“Kinky.”

“Maybe, if you think it’ll be good for you.”

Clint twisted and pushed as they reached the bedroom and Phil barely had time to register the sensation of falling through the air before he hit the mattress with a thump. Clint clambered up to straddle his lap, definitely smirking now, “Oh Phil,” he said, his fingers already slipping under Phil’s shirt, “I’m pretty sure I can make it good for both of us.”

As it turned out, he wasn’t even close to wrong.

Later, Phil dragged himself reluctantly out of the bed, as always. He dressed quietly, so as not to wake Clint. Sure, he might be feeling better - and Phil pressed the back of his hand to Clint’s reassuringly cool forehead just for a moment, just to check - but surely still needed the sleep. Clothes on, he picked up his bag and headed for the door, was almost out of it, but decided to grab a glass of water first. He drank it by the sink in slow gulps, then rinsed and dried the glass. Then washed a couple of other glasses that were on the counter and was searching the living room rea for mugs when the reality of what he was doing stalled him. Washing up. Mugs that weren’t his, in a kitchen that wasn’t his, in an apartment that wasn’t his and doing it as a stalling tactic because he really didn’t want to leave. Not that it wasn’t usually something of a wrench to pull himself away from Clint’s warmth but, he had to admit to himself, today he really didn’t want to leave. Felt like maybe…he…shouldn’t.

Which was stupid, Phil told himself, because Clint was fine. For god’s sake, he’d just demonstrated that, hadn’t he? At length and extremely athletically. He was fine. It had just been a cold or a bug and now Clint was over it, he was well, so very well, and so Phil didn’t need to worry about him anymore. He didn’t need looking after, didn’t need Phil hovering over him. Probably wouldn’t even want it.

So why was it so hard to force his feet back over to the sink, to drain the water, pick up his bag again and walk out of Clint’s apartment? Phil pulled his jacket tight against the cold late-night air, trying to ignore the pang that squeezed his gut when the door clicked locked behind him. God, he felt off. Shaking his head Phil started down the steps. Maybe he needed some sleep himself.

>>===>>

“Can I ask you something?”

“Now?”

“Just quickly.”

“Go on then.”

“Do your friends think this is nuts?”

“What?”

“This. What we’re doing. You and me?”

“Oh. Well, some, maybe. The ones I’ve told. And not ‘nuts’ exactly, but...they think that…I don’t think they get it.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Right. Do…do you think it’s ‘nuts’?”

“Me? No. No, I think it works…don’t you? This?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“I do. I do. I mean, I’m having a great time with you, I…It’s good. This. I think it’s good.”

“Good. Good. So do I.”

“And if it works for us, then why worry what anyone else thinks? Right?”

“Right. It works, we’re fine with things how they are, god, more than fine, so it works.”

“That’s what I think.”

“And…well, if it didn’t, we’d just say something, wouldn’t we? You’d tell me? If things changed?”

“Oh, of course, I’d tell you. That’s what we agreed, isn’t it?”

“And I’d tell you.”

“That’s alright then.”

“That’s alright.”

“Right. Okay. Sure."

“So…where were we?”

“I think…. I was about to kiss you.”

“That sounds like it should work too. Don’t you think?”

“For you, I might be willing to find out.”

“Come here then.”

>>===>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Questions? Yes please! x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for your comments and thoughts on the last chapter, I'm so glad you liked it. And I'm not kidding when I say that those comments are literally responsible for this update. So thank you again! 
> 
> So, anyone ready for more idiots mis-managing their feelings, with included smut and angst? Here we are. Enjoy x

>>===>>

“Clinton Francis Barton! There you are! Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

Clint, arriving late for the ‘ _Stark’s_ staff night out’ and already suffering from the several strongly-worded texts both Nat and Darcy had sent to berate him for it, turned to see who else could be yelling at him loudly enough to be heard over the pounding music of the club. He grinned when he caught sight of his friend Bucky and seconds later was enveloped in a massive bear hug which somehow involved a quantity of cold beer being slopped down his neck,

“Barnes!” Clint spluttered, gasping. It was endlessly hilarious to him that Bucky ‘six foot plus, powerlifter, could-kill-you-with-his-little-finger-and pretty-much-always-looked –like-he-was-thinking-about-doing-it,’ Barnes became a giant, pouty cuddle-monster when he got near alcohol, but not so funny was the way it was making his ribs creak.

“Let me breathe man!” Clint pushed at Bucky’s chest until he finally stepped back and let him gasp in some air. 

Bucky was doing the pouty face already. “Well, forgive me for wanting to hug my pal when I haven’t seen him in weeks!”

“Weeks?” Clint smiled and swatted at his arm affectionately, “You saw me this morning asshole! Or did I smack you so hard into the sparring mat that your memory broke?”

Bucky wobbled backwards, clearly already heading past tipsy, then righted himself and squinted at him, “You did not smack me anywhere. What I remember is you hitting the mat. Four times out of five.”

He held up a firm three fingers with his metal hand and Clint, laughing, lifted his beer from the other before even more of it could end up on the floor or on him. He swigged it back and grinned, “Alright then Bucky-bear, I think you’ve maybe had enough of this… you can remember it your way if it makes you feel better, but you know I was definitely there. _And_ you know that yesterday you spotted for me in the weight room. That’s not exactly weeks, Mr Exaggerator.”

“Nope,” Bucky shook his head and reached out to poke Clint in the chest with one hard metal finger, “ _that_ doesn’t count. Seeing you at work doesn’t count, especially not if I have to arrange a whole night out just to see you away from it.”

“Didn’t Tony arrange tonight?”

“And?”

“Isn’t this Pepper’s _birthday?_ ”

“Not. The. Point.” Bucky punctuated each word with another hard poke. 

“Ow man, watch it with the prosthetic!” Clint grimaced, rubbing at his abused pectoral. Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed at cuddly Bucky after all, “What is your point them? Mind telling me before you drill right through to my actual ribcage?”

“The point, Clinton, is that the code is clearly ‘mates before dates’ and you’ve up and dumped us all for your new boyfriend!”

Cold dismay flooded through Clint. His late nights with Phil (and the days spent recovering from late nights with Phil) had been eating into his social life a bit, he knew it, but surely not to the extent that anyone would really notice, let alone actually mind. It hadn’t been that often, had it? Bucky however, was still talking, explaining in great, tipsy detail why he shouldn’t be deprived of his teammate for poker nights just because some new boyfriend was on the scene and Clint winced internally. Not this again. He opened his mouth to start saying…something, but another voice cut off Bucky’s tirade instead, the deep rumble of Bucky’s fellow weights room attendant and long-term boyfriend Steve Rogers, who appeared to slip one arm round Bucky’s waist and silence him by dropping kiss into his hair, 

“Buck, stop ragging on Clint. I can see you giving him grief from halfway across the dancefloor.”

Clint watched as Bucky’s face lit up and he turned in Steve’s arms to greet him with a proper kiss. It was a bit wetter and messier than was properly fit for public consumption but so tender and uncomplicated, obviously backed up by years of intimacy, and Clint was surprised to feel his heart twisting a little in envy even though he had absolutely no interest towards either of them that way. So why… the pain was confusing and he coughed, loud and exaggerated, to shift it,

“Ahem. Guys. I am actually still standing right here.”

“And so you should be!” Bucky broke away and turned to glare at him again, “If you think…”

Steve squeezed him, “Buck. Enough already! Give Clint a break,” and Bucky squeaked into silence. Clint gave Steve a grateful look, happy to have the topic cut off, about to find a new subject that didn’t make his guts clench up but the gratitude died as Steve carried on, “I know we’re a boring nearly-married old couple now but come on,” he shot Clint what was probably meant to be a reassuring wink and Clint’s heart sank again, somehow knowing what was coming, “Of course he wants to spend his time with Phil at the minute. It doesn’t mean he likes us any less. It’s just, well…you remember what it’s like to be falling in love, don’t you babe?” Steve was gazing down at Bucky as he spoke, eyes all warm. Bucky practically melted back in Steve’s chest and Clint felt unaccountably ill. Even more so when Steve looked back at him, conspiratorial and fond. “Am I right Clint?” 

“Yes. No.” Clint struggled, “I mean, both. Yes, you’re right, I don’t like you guys any less. Of course not. But also, no. No, I’m not falling in love. Phil’s not...” he swallowed, “we’re not…he’s not even my boyfriend, alright?”

Two sets of incredulous eyes turned on him. “What?”

Clint squirmed, it wasn’t like he was ashamed of what he had with Phil or anything, or course not, but explaining it to these two, somehow his patter failed him, “It’s just…oh come guys, I know you like to pretend to be old married grandpas but you know how it works sometimes.” He crossed his arms defiantly, “We’re just…he’s not… _we’re_ not…we’re just _not_. Together. Like that. We talked about it and we agreed. It’s...not. Okay?”

Steve blinked first and even under the club lights Clint could see that he was blushing a little, “Oh. Of course. I mean, sure, that’s...of course it’s okay. I didn’t mean…we shouldn’t have assumed. Not our business anyway. As long as you’re happy. Right Buck?”

Steve looked very much like now he would be happy to change the subject and Clint would have been very pleased himself to oblige but Bucky was staring at him with a wide-eyed look of absolute disbelief,

“Buck…” Steve said, warningly, “As long as Clint’s happy, right?”

“Which I am…” Clint started to add but Bucky waved his hand sharply and he swallowed the rest of his sentence. Bucky leaned in toward him, frowning.

“Wait wait wait, hang on.” he said, “Let me get this straight. This _is_ Phil we’re talking about, right? From your clubbercise class?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Phil who comes every single Tuesday and Friday? Phil who you talked about for so long yesterday that I was about to have to ask Tony if he would fund me prosthetic ears just so’s I could turn them off? Phil who is apparently ‘so damn hot’ and ‘the absolute funniest?’ Phil who put you bed when you were sick? Phil who _tucked you in_? Cheesecake Phil? Phil?”

Well that list was…thorough. Clint winced a little on the inside. Just how much had he been talking about Phil? But he stood firm. “Yes.”

“And he’s not your boyfriend? You’re not in love with him?”

“Bucky, I just told you, no!”

At Clint’s exasperated shout Bucky stopped. He stared until Clint, unable to stand the inspection anymore, shuffled his feet uncomfortably and then his mouth fell open. Slowly he turned to look up at Steve and shook his head, the move full of exaggerated sorrow, “Oh Steve,” he breathed, “he really doesn’t hear the quack.”

What in fuck’s name? Clint felt his whole shoulders tense and he glared at his friend, growling, “The what?”

“The _quack._ ” Bucky repeated, reaching for his hand and patting it, “I’m sorry Clint, I thought you’d dumped us for your new man but this, oh, I see this is much, much worse. It’s about the _quack._ ” He smiled beatifically back at Clint as if that completely explained the nonsense he was spouting. 

Clint took his hand back, rammed it into his pocket, “What ‘quack’?”

“Don’t worry about it Clint,” Steve, who was starting to look distinctly uncomfortable, rumbled, “it’s some _thing_ he has from when we, me and him, when we were getting together, about how long it took me to realise he was interested in me, it doesn’t matter right now. Bucky, enough, this is Clint’s business. Maybe don’t…” 

Without even looking Bucky lifted his arm and with perfect aim, put a finger on Steve’s lips, silencing him. “Steve, my darling, shhh. That quack was about how long it took you to realise that _you_ were interested in _me_ and you know it…but _this_ quack is about _Clint_ ” He was still smiling and something in the way he was doing it made Clint’s feet itch, made him want to run far, far away, “And he doesn’t _hear_ it.”

Clint’s heart was racing. He didn’t know why, but it was. He wanted Bucky to shut up and to shut up right the hell now. He didn’t need to hear any of his drunken bullshit advice or theories, didn’t want them…Automatically, he shifted his weight to his back foot, made his stance defensive, “Bucky, I swear, if you say that shit one more time….”

“Clint.” Bucky said firmly, leaning even closer. “You’re seriously telling us that you’re not falling for this Phil guy? He’s not your boyfriend? Well, those things I just reeled off? That whole fuckin’ list? I’m telling you this as your good friend, you need to think about that list. And then consider the _quack_.”

“ _Barnes…_ ”

Bucky blew out a loud a frustrated noise, “Alright, alright, for fuck’s sake, I’ll put it simply for the hard of feeling!” His voice grew harder, more forceful, “Look, all I’m saying is, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and _quacks_ like a duck… _perhaps that’s because it’s a fucking duck_. Okay?” Clint opened his mouth but nothing came out except a choked breath and Bucky grinned, “Exactly right Barton. Lesson over. Now Steve, take me dancing!” Quick as lightning he leaned all the way in, kissed Clint’s cheek, took back his beer and was dragging an apologetic looking Steve off to the dancefloor before Clint could muster another word.

For a second he stood, stunned, then he cursed, stomped off to sit at the bar and wave down the server to order a drink of his own. A large one. While it was being made, he fumed. Then, while he drank it, he fumed. And when it was gone, he fumed some more. Because, contrary to apparent opinion, he was not stupid. 

He knew exactly what bloody Bucky was getting at. 

And he was wrong alright? He was totally, utterly and absolutely wrong. There was no _quack_ because he, Clint, was not a _duck_. Just because he thought Phil was hot and funny did not mean that he had feelings for him beyond what they’d agreed on.. 

Just because he saw him two nights a week on the regular and looked forward to those nights through the rest of the week did _not_ mean he wanted Phil to be his boyfriend. 

Just because the sex was athletic and inventive and amazing, and Phil’s company was just so brilliantly easy. Just because they had a lot of the same tastes in tv and snacks and humour and Clint felt totally comfortable letting Phil into his home and his history and just because the way Phil had snugged the cover around him had made him feel so cherished and warm and comfortable even in his sick state. Just because he could admit that he’d been pretty disappointed when he’d woken later that night and Phil hadn’t been there…it didn’t mean that he wanted anything more than they already had. None of it did.

He waved for a second drink and then a third, gulping them both down hard against the knot of anger and annoyance and something that tasted a lot like terror rising in his throat.

Just because, he argued silently, just because he did, **actually** , want to see Phil outside _Stark’s_ , to take him out in public and show him off, to get shown off himself a little, to introduce Phil to his friends, give him that fucking sweater and get to hug him in it. Just because he, Clint, wanted, suddenly, viscerally and from the very bottom of his soul, to have Phil actually sleep over and to wake up in his arms and not just for sex, that didn’t mean, _whatever_ Bucky fucking _Barnes_ was trying to say, that he was falli…..oh. 

Clint froze. Full-body stop. Deer in the headlights.

Shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit shit shit and fuck and motherfucking-shitty-wank-ass- _balls._

He was falling in love with Phil wasn’t he?

He was. That _fucking_ duck was fucking _laughing_ at him.

Quack _fucking_ quack.

Actually…Clint groaned as all the tension flooded out of him, replaced with hot, panic-edged anger, and he slumped down onto the bar, head in his hands. Because, actually, no. He wasn’t.

What was the point in trying to pretend? Apparently he hadn’t managed to hide shit about his feelings from _Bucky_ so it would be beyond stupid to try and hide them from himself. 

So.

Clint took a deep breath. He wasn’t falling in love with Phil, because he’d already done it. At some point, and he didn’t even know how long ago which was so _fucking stupid_ , he’d gone and fallen totally, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with the one guy who had told him, explicitly, that he didn’t want Clint to do that. The one guy who would not be falling in love with him. 

Aw, feelings, _no_.

He felt sick, leaden and drink number four didn’t help. What was he going to do? What could he do? Mind flashing as fast as the lights in the club Clint ran through his options. If he told Phil that his feelings had changed…which, his conscience reminded him, he’d promised that he would, and shit, but that made his stomach flip, but if he did…then surely Phil would bow out, like so many others had. He’d lose him, lose Phil, and Clint abruptly knew that he couldn’t face that. His life with no Phil in it? Just…no. So obviously he couldn’t do the whole telling him thing. Wouldn’t. So, he explained to drink number five, there really was only one option. Obviously he’d have to do the sensible thing and just…carry on as they were for as long as Phil was interested. Pretend that nothing had changed, throw himself into the sexy-times, enjoy what he could have while he could have it. That would work wouldn’t it? Clint groaned again, and screwed his eyes up tight, trying to convince himself that his only choice didn’t also sound like the worst idea he’d ever had. But, more time with Phil was worth the risk of a little heartbreak, wasn’t it?

He stayed in his safe, dark huddle down on the bartop until a tap to his shoulder made him lift his head. Against the flashing lights, Nat and Darcy were looking down at him with concern.

“Are you alright?”

He was not telling them. No way. Darcy would find it hilarious and cute and say she’d seen it coming and try to get him to tell Phil, and Nat, well. She would also say she’d seen it coming and then would kick his ass six ways to Sunday. So, instead, he sighed theatrically and gestured at the bar, 

“Ladies, I’ve just this second and for absolutely no particular reason decided that tonight is a good night to make friends with all these pretty coloured bottles and get spectacularly, mind-bendingly and messily drunk. Would you care to join me?”

Nat raised her eyebrow but Darcy saved him from having to make up an excuse by working her magic on the barman and getting them all loaded with gigantic cocktails at an almost supernatural speed. Clint stuck the straw of his into his mouth with the gratitude of a drowning man sucking on an oxygen tank and started gulping the rainbow layers down, ignoring the look Nat was giving him, the one Darcy was giving her and the questions in both.

The only question he cared about right now was a simple one. Just how many layers would it take for him to forget exactly how screwed he was?

>>==>>

“I am _dying_. Legitimately dying. My thighs are on fire.” 

Phil leaned heavily against the wall in the cool spot just round the corner from the gym water fountain, listened to the woman whine and couldn’t help but nod in agreement. 

“At least you still have thighs,” a second voice complained, “all I’ve got are these big burning rolls of pain where my thighs used to be. If I can even walk tomorrow I’ll be shocked. Jesus. Is it me, or was Clint being evil tonight?”

Though Phil couldn’t see the speakers, the voices were ones he recognised from Clint’s Tuesday class, the one he’d just left, gasping, in desperate search for something cold to splash on his face _right the fuck now_ , and they did have a point. The class that evening had been total torture. He could feel the burn himself, heart racing, legs practically shaking. Which was one of the reasons why he’d left Clint chatting to the last few stragglers to grab some water and try and compose himself before they headed upstairs. Clint had of course seen him sweaty, but there was a difference between sweaty and _sweaty_ after all, and Phil would rather stay on the right side of it. Hence the need for a restorative drink. 

By the fountain, the women were still talking,

“Absolutely evil. I mean, that new one? _Zombie Nation?_ That was _merciless_.”

“I know! I like that track but urgh. No song should ever contain so many squats. Evil.”

Which was entirely the other reason why Phil found himself hiding. The squats. The new song routine had contained endless squats and hip rolls and Clint, up on the stage, in front of _everyone,_ had turned and demonstrated the proper form until Phil’s mouth had gone dry. Just watching Clint’s thighs flex, the power in them, the shape, the way his ass curved and pushed out as he moved, it had all slammed Phil thoroughly back into memories of Clint’s bedroom, his bed, and the way he moved in _there_ , the way he moved against Phil… _God_ , it had been so hard to concentrate on the steps and not just storm the stage and forcibly relieve the class of their instructor. And to make things worse, (or better, so, so much better) just as Phil had wrestled his libido into some semblance of behaving itself at least a little bit while Clint was just out there doing his _job_ , Clint had looked back over his shoulder and fucking smiled. It had been such a look, such a completely smug and wicked _smirk_ that it had rocked Phil to his core, burning him with the knowledge that Clint knew exactly what he was doing, that he was doing it on purpose and that he was enjoying it and _fuck_ , Phil hadn’t had to struggle so hard not to embarrass himself in public since he was a teenager. Hence again, the strategic hiding. Because yes, he was fairly sure that he would be going upstairs with Clint as usual – damn, he hoped so - but the gym was Clint’s workplace for god’s sake and Phil wasn’t about to walk through it with, well, an ‘issue’ of that sort. Biting back a groan, he took another long swallow of the ice-cold water and searched for a distraction. Thankfully, his classmates were still helpfully talking,

“I thought it was never going to end. Nearly sat out for the second verse, my knees felt like they were going to pop off.”

“Stop it, please, even talking about it makes my legs ache.” 

The first woman huffed, “Gotta be worth the ache though, for the results. I know I wouldn’t mind an ass like Clint’s”

The tone of admiration made Phil smile to himself. It was, as he was well aware, a spectacular ass. Speaking of which, he was probably alright to go and find the man attached to said ass now without embarrassing himself. He was pushing away from the wall and about step back around the corner when the woman’s companion laughed, 

“Oh no, come on Maija, don’t give me that. You know very well that you don’t want an ass _like_ Clint’s. What you want is _Clint’s ass_.”

Phil froze.

“Nikki!” Maija sounded scandalized and Nikki, apparently, laughed again,

“Like I’m wrong.”

“I am _married_!”

“And? Just because you’re not going to order doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu. And you have to agree that Clint Barton is an absolute _snack_.”

Phil found that he couldn’t walk, couldn’t move, limbs flooded with a freezing, paralysing heat, he just had to stand and listen as Maija laughed too,

“Alright, alright, yes, isn’t he though? Those muscles, damn. He’s gorgeous and his arms are _spectacular_ , I just want to lick them.”

“ _Lick_ his _arms?_ ”

“Oh fuck off, you started it. And you’re just as bad. Don’t even try telling me you’d kick him out of the kitchen after breakfast.”

“Lord no, if that body was in my kitchen the only thing I’d be doing is seeing how sturdy my breakfast bar really is. Then hopefully I _really_ wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I bet he wouldn’t be. I wonder if the size of the muscle translates to elsewhere, if you know what I mean. Mmmhmmm.”

“I do, and god, if it does, jeeez.”

More laughter and Phil tried to recall how oxygen worked, the things they were saying, imagining, about Clint, _his_ Clint…ok, no, wow, he really needed to get a grip. But the women’s words just wouldn’t let him. Objectively, of course, he knew they were just having a giggle but, fuck, it sent something ugly clenching in his chest…

“Do you think he’s single?”

The thing squeezed, gripped with _claws_ and Phil’s blood roared in his ears,

“Pfft, with a smile like that? And such a nice guy too? Doubtful. Maybe. No ring anyway, so I guess there’s always hope. Maybe you should just ask him out.”

Louder, 

“Maybe I will. As soon as I can get through a class without looking like a sweaty tomato. Until then, I’ll just have to dream.”

And louder, 

“Fantasise more like…better be quick though, Dalton from Friday’s class told me last week that he was working up to it. Don’t wait too long.”

And louder. 

“Really? I thought Dalton liked Steve from powerlifting?”

A crescendo of noise that didn’t even slightly block out their inane, _inappropriate_ chatter…Phil could hardly breathe.

“Well sure, but he’s practically married isn’t he? And have you seen the size of his boyfriend? There’s no chance there, but with Clint he might…..”

The sentence faded out as the women walked off, apparently heading out of the building and Phil realised that he was standing, braced to run, hands balled into fists and his breath was coming as short as if he’d only just stepped out of the class. His ears were still roaring. He hardly knew what he was thinking. Knowing that they’d had their eyes on Clint like that, that they’d thought of him like that, his head was full of the images the conversation had conjured and any composure he’d manage to gather after Clint’s flirting was just, gone. A feeling, dark and racing and gripping, pounded through him, through his blood and set his body into motion. He needed to find Clint and he needed to find him absolutely right the fuck now.

In the hall, Clint was still chatting. Phil marched back up to him and snapped, crisply, “Clint, I don’t mean to interrupt but, my lesson? Can we get started? I’m pushed for time today.” and marched out again, straight up to the studio without stopping, paying little attention to any puzzled look shot his way from behind the juice bar.

Clint came panting through the door seconds later, “Phil?” he asked, “What was that about? What’s so urgent?”

“You.” Phil said, grabbing him, one hand already sliding up inside his shirt, “Fuck, _you_.” 

The world went blurry and the next thing Phil really managed to focus on, after a whirl of kissing and locking doors, clothes flying off and frantic rummaging in his gym bag for lube, was the way Clint whimpered and arched as Phil pushed two slick fingers deep, deep into him. Standing with his back bent, his hands braced on the barre running round the studio, Clint was a shaking, whining picture of need, already a mess, cock hard, pressing himself back into the stretch of Phil’s hand. Fuck, but he was so willing, so responsive, and Phil’s gut screamed for more of it, more of him, just _more_ and _more_ and all the time, he needed Clint and he needed to take him fucking _apart_. Clint whimpered again and the noise was heady, potent, that Phil’s head swam. He felt his mouth twist into a sharp smile, everything he’d felt listening to those two women rising to the surface, all that anger, that want…

“That’s right,” he leaned forward to bite a rough kiss into Clint’s shoulder blade, “That’s what you were after, isn’t it? All that bending, that posing, all those damn squats, did you think I didn’t see?” he pressed harder, deeper, twisted, withdrew two and came back with three, incapable right then of any finesse beyond being sure to be safe, he wouldn’t hurt Clint, never, but he just needed to be in and in and in… God, it still wasn’t enough, his own breath sounded obscene, panting harsh in Clint’s ear, he was so _hard_ , “I saw you alright. Jesus, you know how good you look? Shaking that ass up there, is this what you wanted?”

“Wanted…” Clint panted, shuffling his feet to spread his legs wider, to drop further into Phil’s touch, “…nngh…wanted you to look.”

Phil chuckled, dark and low, dark and fierce and somehow not able to stop, “Oh, I looked.” Twisting his fingers again he stroked round inside Clint, his own shiver sparking through him as Clint moaned and shuddered, “I could watch you move all day, the way you sway, couldn’t take my eyes off you, you’re so damn beautiful,” He drew back his hand from Clint’s ass, ignoring his disappointed groan, and smoothed across the curves of his cheeks, up his spine and down again to sweep across his balls. Palmed the length of his cock, just once while Clint cursed, “and you know that, don’t you? Up there, putting on that show, so I couldn’t think about anything but having you, about anything but this, you did all that on purpose. You did it for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes….” Clint groaned and dropped his head, baring the nape of his neck. Oh god, but he was perfect, perfect, and hearing him admit that, admit that he’d shown off for Phil on purpose, for his benefit, Phil felt in danger of exploding, just bursting with how much that filled him, turned him on, he might just break apart. Instead he growled and bent to kiss Clint’s neck, scraping again with his teeth,

“I know you did.” he moved his hands again, gripping Clint’s hip with one, caressing the inside of his thigh with the other, “And it was a good show. But now I want another. Show me what you can do. Stretch for me?” As he spoke he pushed at Clint’s thigh, lifting his leg until his foot was raised high and then propped it up on the barre. Clint groaned tightly and Phil stepped back just a little to admire the view, “Gorgeous.” The stretch of the pose left Clint balanced and braced, his muscles flexing into high relief like some sort of classical statue, and he was open, so, so open to Phil’s eyes, god, it was good. So, so wanton and giving and so good. And just for him. He imagined briefly what Maija or Nikki or even fucking Dalton would say if they could see Clint this way and the dark clench in his chest snarled again. No, not for them. Just for _him_. Phil squeezed Clint’s hip and moved in close so that he could push against him, could rock his aching cock against the steel of Clint’s thigh and it was a mercy, a gasping relief to touch, it filled his whole body with electricity and sent it buzzing up his spine until he was groaning but it didn’t work, it still wasn’t enough. Wasn’t close enough, or big enough, or anything enough and Phil couldn’t have explained it if he’d had the brain to try. He could still hear that giggled conversation, see the lascivious curl of their speculations as if they were marks on Clint’s beautiful skin and he needed to wipe it away, needed them gone. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror as he moved against Clint was a blow. He looked mad, wild, a man burning up, and he was, his skin was on fire, he was burning and only Clint could put it out. Quickly re-slicking his fingers he set them back on Clint, stroking again, running down between his cheeks, teasing firmly round the rim of his hole,

“Did you know though,” he growled, stretching to lick up Clint’s spine, “that I’m not the only one looking? They all are, all of them, looking at you. Thinking about you. Wanting this…” talking about it made him tremble but who else to exorcise this demon? He dipped his fingers, quick and harsh, pushing shallowly into Clint then pulling back to the teasing circling when Clint moaned again, “Did you know that?”

Clint was trembling, squirming back for more pressure that Phil just wasn’t willing to give. Yet. Not until he heard…Clint cursed, “Fuck! Shit, shit, please…no, no I didn’t know, I don’t…Phil, please…” 

Hearing his name on Clint’s lips in that begging tone turned the rest of Phil’s resolve, any last piece of sense he might have gathered, to water and he clutched at Clint again, grinding hard against him. The lube had dropped to the floor and he snatched it up, popping it open with his teeth and slicking himself just one hand, not taking the other away from Clint’s heat until he could replace it with the head of his cock. He drew more circles, firm circles that pressed and promised but didn’t push and it almost killed him to hold back when he wanted, wanted so much, but the way Clint gasped when he recognised the change in pressure, the way his body rolled and shook, it was almost worth the strain, 

Phil leaned close as he could, growled into Clint’s flushed skin, because he had to know, he had to say, to hear, “They are looking, they are, so many of them, looking at you, wanting you. But you didn’t do it for them, did you? They don’t get to have you, do they?”

“Noooo…” Clint’s voice was a strained pant as Phil’s cock continued to slide against him, half angry frustration, half hot need, and it tugged hard at Phil. He moved again to stand square behind him,

“Who does?”

Clint trembled, his leg shaking, “You! Fuck…you do!”

“That’s right,” Phil smirked, and in the mirror he saw himself hard and dark, proud and wicked and wanting, god, so much wanting, “And do you know what it does to me to know that? To see you up there, to see them wanting you and know that I’m the one who gets to take you? Look at me,” he demanded, pulling on Clint’s shoulder, because he still had to know, he had to see. Shakily, Clint lifted his head so that their eyes met in the mirror. Fuck, Phil could have drowned in that look, wild, welcoming, challenge and submission all in one, he could have died in it and been happy, “Do you know what it does?”

Clint glared at him, begging, “Show me.”

“This.” 

Phil pushed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Clint in one long, firm, unstoppable stroke and Clint howled, 

“Yessssss!” 

Gripping him tight, hip and shoulder, Phil rolled his hips back, marvelling at the vice of Clint’s body, the way it clutched at him, held him and opened when he pushed in again. Again and again and again and when Clint strained and pushed back, Phil reached round to take his cock in hand, hard, fat and slick and to fist him in time with his strokes until they were both crying out, filling the air with grunts and pants, bitten off yells, the smell of lust.

There was no build-up, no pretence of restraint or technique, it was fucking, plain and simple fucking, hard and brutal and absolutely exactly what Phil wanted, what he needed to silence the roaring. He slammed into Clint over and over, his knuckles white on Clint’s shoulder, Clint’s white around the barre, the thud of flesh hitting flesh filthily loud in the small room and both of their breaths coming hard round curses and moans and pleas for more. It went on and on and on, Phil taking and taking and taking until he could barely stand it, hot and desperate.

Clint, in the end, broke first,

“Phil, Phil, jesus I’m…I’m gonna...oh fuck, so good, god, god, I’m gonna…”

“Yes?” Phil shifted his hand to Clint’s throat, cupping his jaw and forced his head up again. The move put a beautiful bow into Clint’s straining back and Phil leaned into it, pushing his cock into Clint impossibly further, working Clint’s through his fist, “Look then, I want you to look, fuck you’re so beautiful, so good, watch yourself, I want you to see, watch yourself come, watch me take you, see how I want you, christ, I could die in you…” it was nonsense, gibberish, babbling, he had no idea where it was coming from but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, might never, ever stop, “come for me,” and he was the one begging now, demanding, the beast in him screaming, “now, you’re mine, aren’t you? So do it, do it now, come on my cock, come for me…”

Clint’s entire body clenched and he came with a strangled sob. Phil felt every throb, every pulse as Clint gave himself over to Phil’s hand, to _him_ , and it felt like victory, it felt like winning. Clint stared into the mirror as he shook through it, his wide eyes never once looking away and his glare tipped Phil over the edge too.

“Clint, christ!” Phil wrenched himself back and pulled out, working his cock quick and harsh, the urge to see himself, to watch, more overwhelming than the pull to be in Clint’s heat. He wanted suddenly to see it, to see himself come, to paint Clint with it, to mark him, to, to…the need was in his gut, clawing, dangerous, undeniable, “shit, oh shit, watch me Clint, watch m…ah!” 

A few rough pulls and he was gone, shaking and shouting, sheer pleasure pulling him over and under and curling his toes as he watched himself pulse stripe after stripe over the perfect globes of Clint’s ass. By the time Phil’s orgasm receded Clint was covered, shining lines dripping down the backs of his thighs and it looked so mind-blowingly good, so perfect that even as spent as he was, Phil’s cock twitched again. He stared one more moment, burning the image into his memory, then pushed himself forward, pressing back into Clint’s shaking body with a low groan that was echoed by rumbling in Clint’s chest. Done, he pressed close along Clint’s back and held himself there, overwhelmed and triumphant, the roaring in his ears finally tamping down to a contented hum. 

He might have stayed there forever, wanted to, but in not enough moments his legs started to shake in earnest, threatening a collapse. Helpless, he faltered back, stumbling across the room until his knees folded and he sank down with a thump into the ever-present acrobatics mat, grateful beyond measure for the soft landing and the fact that nobody at _Stark’s_ ever seemed to move the enormous thing.

“Oh,” he sagged, trying to get his heart back under control, “oh my god.”

“You’re not wrong,” 

Phil’s head snapped to Clint who was groaning as he brought his leg down from the barre and his stomach plummeted. God, what had just happened? What had he done? Phil swallowed reflexively, nausea rising. Christ, he’d just fucked Clint, fucked him so roughly, so harshly and without even asking…not that Clint couldn’t have said no, wouldn’t have said no to him, but the things he’d been thinking, that dark roaring, oh fuck, the things he’d _said_ …Phil ran a shaking hand over his face. What had he been thinking? Had he even _been_ thinking? 

Jesus, he wasn’t…Clint wasn’t…they weren’t…

There were _boundaries_ and even orgasm-high and exhausted Phil knew he’d pushed the hell out of them. What he didn’t know, at all, was why had he done it? Had had to do it? Where had that all-consuming need to do, say, take… _everything_ , where had that come from? He didn’t know that. Or how Clint would feel about it. Uncertainty rippled cold down his spine. The last glow of that red-hot want was still smouldering through him but suddenly he felt off-kilter, just…wrong. Not three minutes ago everything had been wonderful, messy and feral but amazing, and now…Phil shivered. Cold. 

Across the room, apparently unaware of Phil’s rising unease, his burgeoning panic, Clint rocked his hips back and forth a few times, stretching and Phil clamped down hard on the triumphant shiver that wanted to fill him as his inner caveman roared ‘look! I did that!’. Jesus. What had he become? Somehow Clint managed to hook his shorts up from the floor and drag them back over the mess on his ass, then stumbled across the room to collapse on the mat too, practically in Phil’s lap, laughing tiredly up at him, “I mean, fucking hell.” 

He leaned to rest his head on Phil’s shoulder and Phil hesitated, then wrapped one arm lightly around him, not pressing, just for balance, and warmth. They sat for what felt like a long time, their breathing steadying even if Phil’s thoughts weren’t. Eventually, Clint laughed softly, “Not that I’m complaining Phil, because, shit, I am _not_ complaining, but where did that come from?”

Phil opened his mouth and stopped.

What could he say? 

Of course, Clint was gorgeous as always and the tease with the squats had been extremely effective, but that hardly explained that clawing, gripping need that had apparently wiped out both his brain and his manners. He winced, remembering. The way he’d jumped on Clint, attacked him almost, the way he’d had him, fuck, _taken_ him, the way he’d needed to take him, wanted to own him, god, even second-hand the sensations had him practically shivering. It had been so strong, stronger than anything he’d felt before, strong enough that it still lingered in his body now, urging him to wrap his arm tighter, to claim… But that was wrong. He’d been possessive of someone he had no right to possess, who wasn’t his, had tried to take something he hadn’t been offered, hadn’t even asked for, and good god, had one little overheard gossipy conversation really affected him that badly? Pushed him that far past his limits? Jesus, past their limits? Their established limits? What had he been thinking? 

And the sex itself. Even with Clint’s obvious consent, Phil knew it had been rough, even brutal, and yet so so necessary, so inevitable, that now that the urge had calmed he felt a little…terrified by it. And a little disgusted. How he’d _wanted. Needed._ That wasn’t his style, their style, they were athletic in bed sure, challenging, sexy, but playful, fun not…whatever this had been. He should have checked with Clint, should have asked, should have…his brain was stuck on repeat, starting to career in circles. Where _had_ it come from? Phil shuddered shuddered, feeling inexplicably raw.

“Phil?” Clint rapped gently on his knee, sounding concerned, and damn, that wasn’t right either, “Phil? You in there? You alright?”

Phil blew out the held breath, “I’m fairly certain,” he said shakily, “that I should be asking you that. Clint, I’m…”

Clint stopped him with a squeeze, “Don’t. You don’t have to...don’t say sorry. I’m not.” His voice was, understandably a bit shakily, and it was so kind and so gentle and so much more than Phil deserved, “And I’m fine, you know. I don’t mind it a bit rough sometimes. If that’s what’s freaking you out. I can see you’re freaking out. You didn’t like… hurt me or anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Phil.” Clint said softly, “You _wouldn’t._ ” he was so serious, so sure and it just made the sense of wrongness, rawness so much worse, because he wouldn’t but…christ, he felt like a heel. He’d been offered so much, Clint gave so much, and yet he’d still tried to take _more_ , what kind of a bastard was he? Clint however, was still reassuring him, “Felt good, really good, you were so sexy, you have no idea,” Clint jostled Phil’s shoulder, “And hey, you know I’m bendy enough.” he smiled then, but, oh god Phil’s guts turned to ice, it looked a little wobbly, uncertain round the edges, “Just…what brought that mood on? In case I ever need to, you know…recreate it?”

He wished he had an answer because he didn’t. And that was something he just didn’t ever have to deal with, he always knew himself if nothing else. But this…he was adrift and he _hated_ it. With more time maybe he could parse it out but Clint was just sitting there, patiently waiting so Phil pulled up his best flirt, tried to shrug nonchalantly, “Well, I suppose you were just…overwhelmingly hot tonight. If I’m honest, I completely blame the squats.”

Clint stayed still, still watching him, as if waiting for something more. He opened his mouth, full of half sentences and confused broken words, but closed it again in a twisted approximation of a smile. Better to keep silent than say something stupid. Stupider. He didn’t want to mess this up, this thing they had, could not stand to ruin what had always been so amazing, not because of some temporary wildness, some weird selfishness. Clint was still watching him but when he offered nothing else, nodded slowly, 

“Okay. If you say so. I guess my ass can take the compliment.” he squirmed a little and grimaced, “Urgh, okay, I need a drink and a wash and somewhere to lie down.” Standing, he offered Phil a hand, “Are you…going to come up?”

Shit, he sounded so tentative, so unsure and Phil hated it, and hated himself for causing it. He had to get away, break this moment for them both.

“No, thank you. Not tonight.” Much as he might want to, and he really wanted to, as generous as it was for Clint to offer, after… he couldn’t go up to Clint’s like this, go chat or eat or watch tv, not after this, not while his skin was still flayed away, god no. He couldn’t trust himself, who knew what he might do, or say, or…whatever. No. Better not. “I can’t.” he lied, smiling again though it physically hurt to do it, “I really do have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh.” the syllable dropped as if down a well. Clint’s face shuttered into an expression Phil couldn’t decipher and Phil wanted to take it back, to take his hand, to hold it, and he couldn’t because they didn’t _do_ that, he didn’t have the right to do that, couldn’t ask for even more _again…_

“Alright.” Clint nodded, straightened and started gathering up the rest of his fallen clothes, “I’m gonna head up then. You should be able to get out the front if you’re quick. Night Phil.”

Phil followed suit, glad to be moving, scrabbling his own gear back together and back on, “Goodnight Clint,” He said it lightly, casually, like any other time he’d left and done it with a smile but at the sight of Clint’s retreating back a sudden panic flared in his chest and he blurted, “I’ll see you Friday though, right?”

Clint paused, the door up to his place already unlocked and open in his hand, “Sure.” he said, slowly, “Friday. I’ll be here.”

The relief at having it pinned down, knowing that he was going to have another day was shockingly, bafflingly intense. Phil swallowed, “That’s good. Sleep we…” he started but Clint was already through the door and gone. Damn.

Phil tried very hard not to think as he finished pulling himself together, threw his tracksuit on over his shorts and made his way downstairs. The main doors were already closed, a wall of unresponsive glass, and Phil went down the line, trying each one like a bluebottle butting against a window, until a voice came from behind him,

“Go left. Far left, that one’s not locked yet.” 

It was Darcy, the girl, _woman_ , from the juice bar again, somehow always there to witness his awkwardness. He nodded, “Thanks.”

“No trouble Phil.”

“Yes. Well. Thank you again.” He nodded again, a good night, a goodbye, and went to the far left. The door was indeed still open and he was halfway through when Darcy called out again,

“Hey… I’m not, you know, prying, but Phil…are you okay?”

“Me?” Phil looked over his shoulder and dredged his smile back up, “Of course. Absolutely fine.” He saw Darcy frown but kept going, kept walking, and the door closed behind him. 

It was a standard answer, automatic, protective, and it occurred to Phil as he hit the cold air and started walking quickly towards the subway, that at that moment, he had absolutely no idea whether or not it was a lie.

>>===>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments massively appreciated. Come on, cheer up a girl's lockdown, you know you want to.


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